


The Journey

by Nightgrauen



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 26,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightgrauen/pseuds/Nightgrauen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN 3x09!!! MAJOR SPOILERS!!! This fanfiction describes Oliver's journey after what happend in episode 3x09. And how does Team Arrow get him back? Multichapter-Story with two two story-arcs that eventually become one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first step

**Author's Note:**

> I have to say this in advance. English is not my native language, it's German. I try really hard to avoid mistakes, but even after all these years learning your language, some grammar related stuff trips me up sometimes. And of course, there are the usual 'typos'. So feel free to point out any mistakes you find, I will correct them. I am also still looking for a beta-reader. If you are interested, please let me know.

## The Journey

  
 _"O Allah, forgive and have mercy upon him,_  
excuse him and pardon him,   
and make honorable his reception.  
  
Expand his entry, and cleanse him with water, snow, and ice,  
and purify him of sin as a white robe is purified of filth.  
  
Exchange his home for a better home,   
and his family for a better family,   
and his spouse for a better spouse.

  
Admit him into the Garden,   
protect him from the punishment of the grave   
and the torment of the Fire.”

xoxoxo

Somewhere, high upon a mountain-side shrouded in the blue light of descending dusk, a cold biting wind blew, jerking small snow-flakes this way and that in a hasty dance. A deathly stillness lay upon the land, so far removed from civilization and so high upon the mountain that even few animals dared to tread there.   
  
Two tiny pine-trees, standing beneath the summit on a narrow ledge, bend under the weight of winter’s icy breath as a gust of wind tore at the fabric of pant leg, hanging lifelessly off the ledge, making it flutter. A body lay there, still and broken… dead.  
  
Suddenly the snow that covered the ledge crunched under the weight of boots. A man clothed in dark leather and fabric, face shrouded under a hood, stepped around the two small pine-trees and knelt in the snow next to the body. The man exhaled heavily, as his hand reached up to slide back his hood.

“I did not wish this. I had no desire to see you fall… my friend” Maseo lowered his head, sadly gazing upon the broken form of Oliver Queen and sighed, as he laid a hand upon the man’s chest in reverence, gazing upon the wound that had ended this precious life. That’s when he felt it!  
  
“This is not possible!” He exclaimed in shock. Removing the glove on his right hand, thinking he had might have deluded himself, Maseo returned his fingers to the cold flesh. There it was again! A small rise and fall of the chest, barely perceptible. Maseo shook his head, not believing what he felt and saw, despite his eyes and his fingers telling him otherwise.  
  
“You should be dead”, he whispered, more to himself than to the body in front of him. With his ungloved hand Maseo reached up, gently touching a cold cheek, searching for further proof of life. And got it, as he felt a small exhalation of cold breath on his inner wrist – Oliver Queen was alive!

Send to retrieve the dead body of his former friend, Maseo was now faced with an entirely different decision. What should he do? Defy the Demon and safe this man or bring back the body of Oliver Queen, still alive, though barely, to the Ra’s al Ghul. He gritted his teeth for a moment, then exhaled sharply. There was no decision to make.   
  
Carefully he slid his arms beneath Oliver’s back and knees, lifting him into his arms and carrying him from the mountain-side. “I… - I’m sorry. But I’m not the Maseo you once knew. I’m no longer your friend. I can’t defy the Demon.”  



	2. A song of ice and fire

_Last time: Carefully he slid his arms beneath Oliver’s back and knees, lifting him into his arms and carrying him from the mountain-side. “I… - I’m sorry. But I’m not the Maseo you once knew. I’m no longer your friend. I can’t defy the Demon.”_   


xoxoxo

  
Cold. So cold. That was Oliver’s first conscious thought, as his senses returned to awareness. The blood in his veins felt like ice, like slow crawling particles that sliced him open from within. And his skin was frozen, he felt like it would just take one touch to make him splinter into thousand pieces. It hurt, he hurt! Everywhere! He had never known such pain; it made him numb to all other sensation. He couldn’t feel. Couldn’t think, because his senses had dulled to everything else. Couldn’t remember. ‘ _What happened? Where am I? Why am I so cold? So cold… so dark. Maybe I should sleep. Not think. Not feel.’, he thought._ It would make the pain go away. And so he did, welcoming the darkness’ return …  
  
The next time Oliver rose to awareness, it was to the feeling of warmth on his cheek. A touch? It felt like a touch, he thought. ‘ _Who’s touching me?’_ He wanted to ask, wanted to see, wanted to beg the person to make the cold and the numbness go away. ‘ _Please help me!_ ’ he screamed in his head, but his eyes refused to open and his lips refused to move. The numbness that had taken hold of his body, had put him into a frozen prison he couldn’t escape from.

Oliver thought he heard a voice. But he couldn’t understand what it was saying, his brain to sluggish to make sense of the words. He would’ve liked to know what the voice said, but instead he let it lull him back to the darkness, as he felt himself being lifted. He let himself be carried away from the cold and the darkness on the wings of whispered words.

xoxoxo  
  
Oliver didn’t know how much time had passed, when he returned to semi-consciousness again. The concept of time was beyond his grasp at the moment. It was leaping, stretching and retracting like a rubberband. And he still couldn’t remember…

With awareness also came another sensation. The cold was gone. But it had been replaced with a burning fire, no less intense. It made every cell and pore in his body scream. The slow crawling ice particles in his veins had turned into molten lava streams scorching their way through his body.   
  
And his chest hurt, it hurt to breath, ‘ _Why can’t I breathe?’_ Every time he tried, a scorching pain stabbed through his chest like a sword made from glowing steel. He coughed and felt the bitter tang of blood in his mouth and on his lips. ‘ _Maybe I’m dying_ ’  
  
With his last remaining strength, Oliver struggled to open his eyes. Managing barely more than a slid, he gazed upon the blurry, distorted world around him and thought he saw stone walls, bathed in the yellow glow of fire. Maybe that’s the reason why he felt so hot? _I died, and now I am in the pits of hell._  
  
He blinked, as a dark form appeared in his line of vision. The person, a man, Oliver thought, towered above him and his eyes lingered for a while on his prone body, seemingly studying him. The man’s gaze penetrated through skin and bone, reaching into his very soul. Despite feeling hot, Oliver shivered.

Then the man turned away, speaking to somebody else, before returning his focus on Oliver and kneeling down next to him. A cool hand touched his brow, softly, almost caressing, making the flames that licked at his skin disappear for a moment. Oliver closed his eyes in relief.

“Sleep, son. For when you awake next, the world will have changed.” The man had bent down to whisper those words into Oliver’s ears. Oliver summoned all strength he had left to open his eyes one last time. And when he did, he looked into the eyes of The Demon


	3. Life or death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was really hard to find the English letters for the Arabic name and pronounciation of Maseo's name and so I apologize in advance for possibly getting it wrong. Enjoy reading.

_Last time: “Sleep, son. For when you awake next, the world will have changed.” The man had bent down to whisper those words into Oliver’s ears. Oliver summoned all strength he had left to open his eyes one last time. And when he did, he looked into the eyes of The Demon._

xoxoxo

Hands folded at his back, Ra’s al Ghul stared into the fire in the brazier in front of him, having sunk deep into contemplation. In his mind he replayed the fight between himself and ‘The Arrow’ as the boy had liked to call himself.   
  
For an outsider the fight might have seemed short, between two fighters unevenly and unfairly matched. The boy, Oliver, had never stood a chance, Ra’s knew. Nobody did. He was The Demon’s Head after all, had lived a thousand lives, killed a thousand men and would kill a thousand more.  
  
And yet, this boy had stood longer against him in fight than most men ever had in all the years of his unnaturally long existence. He had stood and fought longer than five trained assassins, fighting him at the same time, had been able to. The Demon was impressed!

It had brought him no joy to kill this young man, a worthy fighter, but a blood debt had to be paid. Ra’s al Ghul could not change these age old, sacred rules anymore, than he could change path of the sun. _What a shame! What a waste of potential…_  
  
To honor Oliver Queen’s sacrifice, he had recited a short prayer, giving the boy his last rites, as he had sat swaying on his knees – a faraway look in his eyes, maybe he had been seeing loved ones – slowly suffocating on his own blood. To end the young man’s suffering he had decided to push him off the plateau, hopefully sending him to his final demise.

After returning to their secret headquarters, a League Stronghold in the Canadian Rocky Mountains, he had send Sarab, the Phantom, to retrieve the mortal body of Oliver Queen, knowing that they, at one time in their life, had been friends. The League of Assassins would give The Arrow a proper burial.

As he heard heavy steps approach, Ra’s looked up and turned to the entry of the vast chamber in which he stood. It was cavernous, built from stone, its high arcs and illuminated by the flames of six glowing braziers, including the one he had been gazing upon. The sputtering flames danced in their fiery beds, casting an eerie, otherworldly glow as far as their light reached, painting ceiling, walls and the damp ground in hues of orange and yellow.  

A few seconds later a man emerged from the darkness of the corridor, at whose entrance six faceless assassins stood as silent sentinels, their faces and bodies hidden in black cowls, and held guard over their master. Not that he needed hit. In his arms the black clothed man held the broken form that was once had been Oliver Queen – The Arrow. Striding into the room, he lowered himself to kneel in front of The Demon and lay down his precious burden.

“Master”, he said reverently, bowing his head in a show of respect and removing his hood to reveal his face.

“Thanks for fulfilling this task for me, Sarab.”

With a slight nod of the head, Sarab acknowledged the praise.

“See to it that the boy gets a proper burial. He fought and died honorably. He deserves this.” Ra’s turned leave.

“Master…” There was a slight hitch in the Phantom’s voice, then a pause, which made Ra’s turn back.

“Yes, Sarab?”

“He’s alive, Master. Oliver Queen yet walks among the living”, Maseo whispered in awe.

The Demon’s eyes widened at the Assassin’s words. Ra’s tilted his head. “Is that so? Let me see.”  
  
Sarab stood, taking a step back as Ra’s al Ghul took his place. The Demon could hardly believe the words of his assassin and yet he knew the man would never dare to lie to him for fear of his wrath.   
  
And truly, in the very moment Ra’s a Ghul stared down at the broken body of Oliver Queen, the young man opened his eyes, revealing under their heavy lids fever-glazed, unfocused orbs, which roamed aimlessly around the room… the ceiling … the glowing braziers… until they finally alighted on him.   
  
_Does he recognize me?_ Ra’s wondered.   
  
This was a most unexpected development. Most unexpected indeed. Surely this was some kind of sign, Oliver Queen surviving a grievous stab-wound and his fall off the plateau? What should he do with the boy? He could end his suffering now, giving him a swift and merciful death. And yet, something held Ra’s back. He stared intently down at Oliver, searching and finally finding his answer. How could he end this man’s life now that fate had chosen for him to survive? It wouldn’t be honorable.

“Sarab,” Ra’s turned to man that stood behind him, his dark orbs caught the glow of the flames and made them look as if they were lit from within, a dark, burning fire in those unfathomable depths. He fastened his gaze on the assassin.

Maseo stiffened. “Yes Master?”

“Let everybody know that we’ll leave within an hour! Make ready our transport to Nanda Parbat”, he instructed, gazing down upon the prone form at his feet.  
  
“Yes, Master!” Maseo tilted his head in obeisance, before turning to leave, not questioning The Demon’s orders. He would never dare to! But he could not help but glance back one last time, seeing his former friend lying, broken and shivering on the floor. _What plans does he have in store for you, my friend?_

When Sarab had left, Ra’s knelt down next to Oliver. Laying a hand upon the feverish brow, he stroked aside the sweat drenched hair, feeling at hot fire crawling under the skin. The boy was burning up on the inside. But it seemed he took some measure of comfort from Ra’s touch, as he closed his eyes and exhaled ever so softly. Ra’s bent down to whisper into his ear. “Sleep, son. For when you awake next, the world will have changed.”

At those words the boy opened his eyes and Ra’s knew that Oliver Queen recognized him, knew that he had looked into the eyes of The Demon!


	4. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh... have I mentioned how difficult it is to write in a foreign language? No? Well, it is! But it would never cross my mind to write this story in any language other than English. It sounds better and the fandom/fanbase is the largest we have. It takes me hours to write one stupid chapter with 1000 - 1200 words. It probably doesn't help that I am a perfectionist and revise every sentence at least two or three times. 
> 
> Please note, that I am also still looking for a Beta-reader. Let me know if you're interested.
> 
> This fanfiction is based on my very 'real' speculations of what might happen in the upcoming Arrow-episodes. You'll see how this story develops. Who knows, maybe I am right.

_Last time: At those words the boy opened his eyes and Ra’s knew that Oliver Queen recognized him, knew that he had looked into the eyes of The Demon!_

xoxoxo  
  
Nanda Parbat - The Hidden City it was called – for a reason. Deep in the Tibetan mountains this fortress lay, its entrance nestled at the base of a smaller mountain-flank, thus hidden by its larger brethren. Few knew where it lay and even fewer had ever laid eyes upon it.

Walls and pillars of stone, carved in ages past, stood like silent sentinels next to a dark entrance that led deep into mountain. It seemed like a portal into another world. And maybe it was, to those who entered there, because once somebody set foot into Nanda Parbat, this person’s life would be forever changed.

The neighing of horses announced the approach of a group of riders to the four hidden guards keeping watch over the entrance to their realm. Nobody would have known them to be there, so well they blended into the lengthening shadows cast by the tall stone pillars, as the sun slowly descended behind the mountain.

One of them stepped forward, his black scarf and cowl instantly gripped by the icy gusts of wind which came down from the snow covered mountains and blew across the valley. He walked forward, down the steps, until he reached the lead rider. Gripping the reins of the black horse in one hand, he placed the other across his heart and bowed his head in obeisance to the man sitting upon it.   
  
“Master. Welcome home.”  
  
The Demon did not acknowledge the guard’s words. Instead he gave his men and his surroundings one last glance, as if to make sure they hadn’t been followed. Then he lifted his dark, woolen mantle with his right hand and dismounted gracefully.

Other guards came forward to take the horses and lead them away to another entrance at the side of the mountain, one that led to the stables. It seemed archaic to uses horses as means of transportation in this day and age, but animals were easier to maintain in this far away region than vehicles and their trails more easily hidden.  
  
Silently Ra’s al Ghul watched as his soldiers unstrapped a litter that hung between two horses, carrying a precious burden to the Hidden City. On it, swathed in a bundle of fur and blankets, lay the silent form of Oliver Queen.

When they were done, Ra’s stepped forward to check upon the young man, who by some miracle yet lived and had survived the journey to Nanda Parbat, which had lasted two days. To The Demon this was further proof that Oliver Queen was meant for a greater purpose. A purpose, which of course would be chosen by him, Ra’s al Ghul, and thus the task to ensure the boy’s survival fell upon his shoulders.   
  
They had taken every possible step to stabilize Oliver’s condition, treading him with modern medicine and ancient herbs alike, bandaging his wounds and making him comfortable for the journey. During all this time Oliver had slumbered on, living in a world created by his fevered dreams. Not once had he regained full consciousness. Sometimes he would shake, or grimace. Other times he murmured breathless words or names, some more often than others. One stood out particularly – Felicity.

Ra’s wondered, who this Felicity was that captured so many of the boy’s thoughts, as he removed his gloves and touched the back of his hand to the hot brow, checking the boy’s condition and finding it unchanged. No herbs, no pills had been able to quench the fire that was burning in Oliver’s veins, caused by the injury Ra’s himself had inflicted. It was good that they had finally reached their destination, because the fire would surely continue to consume this frail body until it had nothing left to give. There was only one way to make sure the boy survived…

“Bring him”, he said to the four litter bearers, turning and striding to the entrance of the his stronghold - and they followed.  
  
As they passed beneath the portal of the stone pillars, entering the torch-lit tunnel that would lead them under the mountain and into Hidden City, the air seemed to change around them. It became heavier, felt thicker with every breath, letting those that followed the path know, that they had entered another realm. After walking for what surely seemed like half an hour, following the tunnel’s twists and turns, they finally emerged from its smothering constriction, stepping onto a man built ledge of stone. And there, beneath them, in a sheer endless cavern, lay Nanda Parbat, the Hidden City.   
  
Houses and other buildings carved from stone stood beneath the cavern’s large ceiling – there must have been hundreds. Their red shingled roofs glowed in the light of small fires and torches that lit the vast darkness, the only source of light when night descended in The Demon’s Realm. When the sun rose again in the morning, its rays would light the city through narrow shafts cut into the cavern’s large ceiling.

Ra’s al Ghul looked down upon the city, a sense of pride and accomplishment blossoming in his chest, as it did every time he returned. Through the ages he had seen cities rise and fall, realms crumble or go down in flames and ashes. But Nanda Parbat had survived. And he would make sure it stayed that way. This was HIS city - he would protect it at any cost - maybe, in time, it would become Oliver Queen’s city too. Not maybe… he would make sure of it.  
  
Looking at the litter bearers he nodded in the direction of a building in the center of the city, easily identified, because it stood taller than all other buildings in Nanda Parbat. A courtyard and wall of stone surrounded it – his palace.

“Bring him to my chambers and send for Halari”, he instructed, before descending the steps that led down into the city, his men following.   
  
As the group reached the ground level and their feet touched the hard-packed earth, time seemed to freeze. People stopped whatever they were doing; children halted their play, women, men and merchants alike ceased their chatter with one another to bow in obeisance to their returned master, but also to curiously gaze upon the litter, carried by the soldiers, wondering who the pale young man was, their master had brought home with him.

“Master, Master!” A small boy, probably now more than three of four years old, ran up to Ra’s al Ghul, clutching at The Demon’s robe and nuzzling a cheek against his legs. The small procession halted abruptly.

A woman, obviously the young boy’s mother, gasped loudly, and sent an anxious glance in Ra’s direction. “Master! I … I’m so sorry. He does not know better. He’s too young to understand…”, she stuttered, not knowing what else to say.  

Ra’s laid a hand upon the toddler’s head, stroking the dark curls softly, and then looked straight at the mother, a benign smile on his face. “Don’t fret my daughter. Everything is fine.” Next he bowed down to the young boy, lifting the toddler’s face with a finger under his chin. “Go back to your mother, child”, he instructed with a kind smile- And the boy did, the woman looked relieved.  
  
Without further interruption the procession reached The Demon’s palace. Upon entering the courtyard, one soldier broke away from the group – Maseo, or as he was now known, Sarab - to fetch the woman called Halari; she was Ra’s al Ghul’s body servant and saw to all his needs.   
  
Guards at the entrance to the building opened a huge, doubled-winged door to let them enter. Inside more torches revealed a long corridor in their flickering light. Ra’s strode along this corridor, bypassing his throne room, to enter another set of rooms - his personal chambers. There Halari stood smiling. “Welcome home, Master!”


	5. A measure of comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another new chapter. Please bear with me my fellow Olicity-fans. I know we are all waiting for Oliver and Felicity find their way back to one another, and they will, promise!

_Last time: Guards at the entrance to the building opened a huge, doubled-winged door to let them enter. Inside more torches revealed a long corridor in their flickering light. Ra’s strode along this corridor, bypassing his throne room, to enter another set of rooms - his personal chambers. There Halari stood smiling. “Welcome home, Master!”_

xoxoxo

Next to her stood Sarab, whom he had sent to fetch her from the servant quarters.  
  
Ra’s did not acknowledge Halari’s greeting, though he had certainly heard it. But it did not do to trade trivial words with a simple servant, even one such as the beautiful Halari, who was his personal body servant and saw to his ‘every’ need.  
  
The dark haired, olive skinned beauty stepped forward, her sheer white robe that hang draped from her shoulders and left few things to imagination, flowed lightly behind her as she moved. The folds of white cloth swayed as if caught by a gust of wind.  
  
Still smiling, she raised her hands to remove the mantle from his shoulders. But if one looked closely enough, one could see that the smile did not reach her eyes. She simply followed the age old tradition of servants and masters, portraying an image of happiness at her master’s return. As was expected of her.  
  
Unclasping the mantle, she reverently lifted the heavy, ornate piece of fabric off Ra’s shoulders, as if it were a most prized possession, and took it away.

Ra’s turned around and looked at the entering soldiers. “Put him there”, he instructed them, tilting his head in direction of a stone pedestal by a window, where he wanted them to set down the litter bearing Oliver Queen’s body. Under The Demon’s watchful gaze, they did as they were told, then stood at attention and looked at Ra’s al Ghul, waiting for further instructions.

“Leave. Not you Sarab! I still have need of you. - Woman, fetch a bowl water. Remove the bandages and bathe his wounds. He needs to be prepared.” While he spoke, Ra’s walked up to the stone pedestal. He looked down to study the ashen face of the man lying there, as he had so often felt compelled to do in these last two days. There was something special about this young warrior, something that warranted The Demon’s undivided attention.

Ra’s noticed small beads of perspiration sitting on Oliver’s forehead, curling his short hair into sweaty locks, surely caused by the raging infection that had taken a hold of his body. In greases, formed by the pain and suffering he was experiencing, small beads gathered, before taking on momentum and rolling down his neck. Who knew which untold horrors the boy relived in his mind? Which memories tortured him in his slumbering state? His lips, chapped by lack of hydration and the cold, dry, Tibetan winds, were slightly parted, exhaling shallow, strained breaths. If they didn’t act soon, Oliver Queen would take his last breath under Nanda Parbat’s stony roof. They had to act fast now.  
  
“Sarab, come with me. We need to prepare.” Having spoken those words, he left the room through a set of doors, which led into another, deeper part of the palace; one few had ever seen or had access to. Sarab followed.

xoxoxo   
  
Halari had returned, just as her master left with the soldier known as Sarab. She set down the bowl of water and a sponge next to foreigner’s head, which was the only thing visible of the man. She did not know who he was, where he came from or what had happened to him, just, that her master wanted her to take care of him. And that she would do.

Removing the blankets and furs in which Oliver had been swathed for the rough journey through Tibet’s cold mountains, she revealed the body of the young man. It was horrible disfigured with scars, telling stories of the battles he had fought, that he had won and lost. But what captured her attention most, were two heavy bandages covering his chest and midriff.  
  
Using a small sharp blade, she carefully cut through the bandages layer by layer, until the last one fell away. What lay underneath made her gasp. How was he still alive? She had found two crudely sewn wounds; one in his side and one in his chest. Both were crusted with dried herbs, oozed blood and puss. Pity tucked at Halari’s heart for this poor stranger’s soul. She hoped he would survive his gruesome injuries; however he had come by them. If her master had anything to say about it, she knew, he would.   
  
Taking the sponge, she dipped it into the tepid fluid, squeezed out the excess water and gently wiped it across the man’s too hot brow, then his cheeks. A barely perceptible sigh escaped his chapped lips and his features lost some of their strain. Halari smiled, glad being able to give him some small measure of comfort. She knew it wasn’t much. Again she wet the sponge and this time she dabbed it at his chapped lips, which caused him to moan. His lips parted some more and he unconsciously licked at the moisture with his tongue.   
_  
‘He’s thirsty’_ , Halari thought instantly and returned the sponge to the bowl to gather more fluid. Holding it over the man’s parted lips, she squeezed the sponge slightly, letting small droplets of water drip into his mouth, until he swallowed reflexively. She repeated the process two more times, until she felt that he had enough, then began the task of cleaning the rest of his body, gently wiping him down, removing sweat and cleaning his wounds. She did so quickly, yet thoroughly, for she feared her master’s wrath, if she did not finish this task before he returned.

When she was done, Halari set aside the sponge and covered the foreigner’s body with a light blanket, her soft hands smoothing the silken sheet across his torso. She did not know what compelled her do it, but she lightly caressed his brow. Maybe it was pity. Maybe she was trying to soothe his anguish, or give him some measure of comfort. She did now know. At her touch, the man to moaned, his head lolling from side to side, as if trying to wake himself from a deep slumber.

“Sshh. Everything is fine. Sleep.” Halari tried to soothe him, repeating the words several times, but he wouldn’t have hit. Again he moaned, his lips opening and closing, trying to form words and speak, but lacking the breath to do so. Halari bent forward, strands of her long, straight, jet-black hair falling forward like a silk curtain. She pushed them back with a delicate hand, trying to understand what he said.   
  
It wasn’t any coherent sentence. It was just one word, he repeated over and over again – _“Felicity”._


	6. The Pit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are finally. The Lazarus Pit. I tried to gather as much informtion as I could about it, wanting to stay true to Ra's al Ghul's lore. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Also, we will soon learn what Diggle, Roy and Felicity are up to. I am sure you all have been looking forward to that!
> 
> Please leave some reviews, and tell me what you think. It would make me really happy!

_Last time: Halari bent forward, strands of her long, straight, jet-black hair falling forward like a silk curtain. She pushed them back with a delicate hand, trying to understand what he said._   
  
_It wasn’t any coherent sentence. It was just one word, he repeated over and over again – “Felicity”._

xoxoxo  
  
Halari wondered who this ‘Felicity’ was, whose name the stranger repeated again and again. She must be someone important to him. “Sshh, go back to sleep,” she whispered into the man’s ear, but he was too deeply entrenched in his fever-dreams to hear her words and just kept on muttering.  
  
So focused was she on her charge, that she did not hear the door open or the footsteps approaching her from behind. As a hand was laid upon her shoulder, she let out a startled shriek. “Ayyy”  
  
“Everything is fine Halari,” a voice assured here – it was the soldier who had left with Ra’s.  
  
Halari turned around to look at the man. “Sarab,” she greeted him with a respectful bow of the head. Soldiers… assassins… such as Sarab, were of higher standing than her, a simply body servant, in The Demon’s society. For that reason alone she had to show him respect, no matter if he’d earned it – or not.  
  
“Is he ready?” Sarab studied the man with something akin to sadness in his eyes.  
  
This surprised Halari and she hesitated shortly before answering his question. “Yes.”  
  
“Good, I will take him.” With those words, he slipped his hands carefully beneath Oliver’s knees and back, like he had done once before, and scooped the man up. His limbs dangled from Sarab’s arms, his head resting listlessly on the assassin’s shoulder. Hefting Oliver’s deadweight a little higher up his chest, until had a good grip, he turned to leave, striding into the direction which he had come from.  
  
“Wait!” The woman’s voice suddenly called, making Sarab halt in his steps, glancing back over his shoulder.  
  
“What is it woman? You do NOT keep The Demon waiting.”  
  
“Do you,” Halari began hesitantly; “Do you know him?” She knew it was none of her business. “Do you know who he is?”   
  
Maseo swallowed. His eyes, for a moment, taking on a faraway look, then they hardened. “In a former life,” was all he said, before turning away and leaving with his burden.  
  
Halari sighed, looking at his retreating form until she could see it no more, until it was swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel through which he had left.  
  
xoxoxo  
  
Each step he took, led Sarab further down into the bowels of the earth, a realm of its own, as he walked tunnels hewn from stone. By whom he did not know. But this place held ancient secrets and wonders, from a time before men, as ‘Earth’ had been made.   
  
One such secret wonder Ra’s al Ghul had discovered in his quest to save the son of a man he had once called master – a pit in the earth, deep underground, holding a bubbling, sizzling substance of unknown composition, which was fed from the bowels of the earth itself, it seemed. He had learned that it restored health and youth to the one submerged in it – and sometimes – life.   
  
A great wonder it seemed indeed, were it not for the fact, that it rendered its user temporarily insane. The Sultan’s son, whom he had tried to save at the time, had gone mad and killed a woman – Sora – the wife of the very man who had saved him. Blame for the murder had fallen on Ra’s own shoulders and he had been brought into the dessert, buried and left there to die. Needless to say he didn’t die, he had survived, and turned into the man he was today – Ra’s al Ghul –The Demon’s Head.  
  
At one such pit, the last one rumored still being in existence, Ra’s now stood, bare-chested, after having removed his silken black shirt, and waited for Sarab’s return. Hands folded behind his back, he gazed upon the bubbling mass in the pit. Steam rose from the glowing green surface, making the chamber in which the pit lay, unbearably hot. Yet, he wasn’t faced by that heat, because this was, what had forged and nourished his body to endure the world beyond. Made him withstand … time… enemies…   
  
The Pit would be Oliver Queen’s final crucible, because once he entered there, he would emerge forever a changed man. One, Ra’s hoped, he could form in his image. The perfect assassin… and maybe…  
  
Ra’s was disturbed from his musings, when he heard footsteps approaching the chamber and turned around to look at the entrance, where only seconds later Sarab appeared; in his arms he carried Queen’s limp body. “Lay him down. Let me take a look at him,” Ra’s instructed the assassin, who did as he was told, laying down Oliver’s body at his master’s feet, before standing back.  
  
Gracefully kneeling down next to the boy, The Demon examined Oliver’s body, which had been cleaned as per his instructions. Halari had done her task well, he noticed. Good. The boy’s head was lolling from side to side feverishly, and unintelligible words fell from his bloodless lips. Ra’s did not know what he was saying, nor did he care, because it was of no consequence to him.   
  
He captured one of Oliver’s hot cheeks in his strong hand, holding it still, thumb stroking across the too hot brow in a twisted sort of a caress, and studied the boyish face, before he spoke to the unconscious man. “Don’t worry, son. Soon it will be over.”   
  
Lifting Oliver, he continued his monologue to the inert form in his arms, telling him of the unimaginable wonders that awaited him. “Your body will be healed, your strength restored, and your mind will be cleansed of all ballast from your last life.”

While speaking, Ra’s had stepped into the pool and walked to its middle, until the bubbling mass reached his waistline. There he stood for a moment, inhaling the vapors that rose from the sizzling surface, then, as if he had reached a decision, he lowered Oliver’s body, letting it slowly sink into the pool’s depth limb by limb, until only his face remained.  
  
“When you emerge, you’ll be ready to learn. -- And I will teach you.” The words sounded like a promise, and they were. With a final prayer upon his lips, Ra’s let go of Oliver, stepped back and watched the boy’s face vanish beneath the surface. It was done! Oliver Queen had lived his last day.  
  



	7. Those left behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was really easy to write this chapter, I don't know why. Maybe, because I could relate to what Felicity is feeling? This chapter made me really emotional.
> 
> Please leave a review! I like kudos, but I would love reviews even more. It's what keeps my writing-spirit up!

_Last time: "When you emerge, you’ll be ready to learn. -- And I will teach you.” The words sounded like a promise, and they were. With a final prayer upon his lips, Ra’s let go of Oliver, stepped back and watched the boy’s face vanish beneath the surface._  
  
 _It was done! Oliver Queen had lived his last day._  
  
xoxoxo

The monotonous sound of clacking computer-keys filled the Foundry with their echo. Sometimes they would stop for a while, only to begin again even more aggressively.

“Goddamnit!” Felicity yelled in frustration, throwing down her glasses onto the table’s surface without care, head falling into her hands and exhaling audibly, as if to calm herself. She couldn’t! Damnit! Damnit! Damnit! Why? Why had Oliver gone off halfcocked without a plan to fight stupid Ra’s al Duel! Why couldn’t he have waited? Of course she knew why! Because he was stupid Oliver-Fucking-Selfsacrificing-Queen. That’s why!  
  
Roy, who had been shooting arrows at the far wall, probably for the same reason Felicity was attacking her keyboard like a maniac – to calm herself – looked at the blond IT-genius. Raising one brow quizzically, he waited for her to say something.  
  
Felicity stood and began pacing between the two computer stands, agitatedly sweeping a hand over her hair. “It has been three days already, Roy! Three days! We should have heard something by now! You know that! -- I know that!” She nearly yelled at him.

Roy nodded, not knowing what else to do. He knew Felicity was right. They should have heard something by now. And that could only mean one thing. And he did NOT want to believe that!  
  
“Say something, Roy!” Felicity demanded, desperately wanting somebody to tell her, that what she was thinking wasn’t true. Oliver was … No! Felicity grit her teeth. She would NOT think that.

“I… I can’t,” Roy stuttered.  
  
Felicity stared at him, more like stared through him, really.  
  
He let the bow think to his side and made one step in Felicity’s direction. His eyes took on a slightly glazed sheen and he tried to swallow that big, fat lump sitting in his throat. It didn’t work. “You … -- you know he’s probably dead, Felicity.” There he had said it! -- And now he wished he hadn’t!  
  
At his words, it seemed like all strength suddenly left Felicity’s body and she collapsed into her chair like a doll with its strings cut. Roy’s bow clattered to the floor with a dull clang as he ran to her side. “Felicity!”  
  
The blond IT-girl lifted her head, looking at Roy as he knelt down before her, taking her hands into his larger ones, squeezing them gently. There were tears in her eyes, which looked at him imploringly, asking him to take back his words.

Roy shook his head. And that was the moment the first tear fell. Then another. And another. And like a dam had been broken, they now ran down her cheeks in a steady rivulet. „No!“ Felicity whimpered; „Please no! Don’t say that Roy! Please, don’t say that! He can’t be dead!”  
  
The young archer did not answer her plea; instead he tugged at Felicity’s arms until she let herself fall forward into his embrace, where she buried her face into his shoulder and started to sob in earnest – big, gasping, breath-stealing sobs that shook her small frame as if she was a leave in the wind. Felicity’s fingers fisted the shirt on his back, holding on in desperation onto the only thing she could. Roy squeezed her tighter, closing his own eyes as one lone tear ran down his cheek.  
  
They stayed that way, for a while. He did not know how long. It could have been minutes, or hours for all he cared. Felicity’s sobs had turned into hiccups a while ago, but she still rested in Roy’s arms, head buried into his neck, not wanting to let go.  
  
“I didn’t even tell him,” she sniffled.  
  
Roy opened his eyes, angling his head slightly so he could look down at the crown of her head. “Tell him what?”

„Before he left, he said he loved me! Roy! He said he loved me, and I didn’t say it back“, she whimpered, followed by a fresh bout of tears. “I didn’t even say it back” she repeated a second time, unbelievingly, the words barely more than a whispered breath and more to herself than to the man in front of her.  
  
Roy sat back and tugged Felicity from his embrace so he could look her into the eyes. “He knew” Roy said in conviction; “Felicity, he knew! You have to believe in that, if not in anything else.”  
  
With large, sad eyes she looked at him, then nodded. Sniffling she scrubbed away the lingering tears in her eyes with her hands, before laying down her head once more on Roy’s shoulder. She was not yet ready to give up the comfort he offered.

And Roy? He did not say anything, he just held her.

xoxoxo     
  
Everything was dark when Diggle entered the Foundry. No lights burned overhead. Even the computer-monitors had been shut down. Somewhere beneath him a single emergency-light glowed, casting its orange light upon the nearest surfaces, drawing creepy shadows on the walls and the ground.   
  
John froze. Something wasn’t right! Someone should’ve been here. Roy and Felicity should’ve been here. He had just left them about two hours ago to make a pharmacy-run for Lyla, who was sitting at home, taking care of a colicky Sara. What could have happened in the span of two fucking hours?  
  
His right hand went behind his back, taking a hold of his Glock-17, not yet drawing the weapon. It was just as a precaution. Eyes scanning the perimeter, John silently crept down the stairs. _Damnit, where are they?_  
  
“Everything is okay,” a low voice suddenly spoke from the darkness beneath the overhanging iron-work somewhere to his right – Roy. Dig would have jumped, if not for the years of his military-training. Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked down the last step, waiting for Roy to show himself.  
  
The young archer came forward, walking into the circle of light cast by the emergency-light.

“Damnit Roy, you startled me! What the fuck happened here? Why are the lights turned off and the computers shut down? And where’s Felicity?” he rapid-fired the questions at the younger man.  
  
Instead of answering, Roy turned his head, glancing over his shoulder into the direction he had come from. Diggle followed his gaze and found her. Felicity was lying on Oliver’s bed. Sleeping.  
  
„What happened?“ he whispered.  
  
„She cried herself to sleep,“ Roy answered sighing, not elaborating on his own role in what had happened. “I think it finally caught up to her that Oliver…” Roy swallowed thickly, still finding it hard to say the words, “…that Oliver might be dead.”  
  
Diggle sighed whipping a hand across his eyes and mouth. He had known that this would happen; he just wished he had been there when it happened. Well, at least Roy had been and he was glad for that!

_Damn you, Oliver! Damn you, for making it hurt so badly!_


	8. The pain of remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty please! If you like the story, leave me a review! I don't ask for much, but I would love to know what you think about the story.

_Last time: Diggle sighed whipping a hand across his eyes and mouth. He had known that this would happen; he just wished he had been there when it happened. Well, at least Roy had been and he was glad for that!_

_Damn you, Oliver! Damn you, for making it hurt so badly!_  
  
xoxoxo  
  
 _Where am I? What’s happening to me? Can’t think. Can’t see. Why is it so dark?_  
  
Can’t move. Why can’t I move? Why do I hurt?   
  
Wait. I know you!  
  
No, go away – No! Stop hurting me! Why are you doing this? – Noooo!  
  
I thought we were friends! Why???  
  
Leave me alone. Please don’t. Stop! Don’t hurt me anymore. Stop! Please!   
  
Why are you doing this? I thought I knew you!  
  
I don’t know! Why are you doing this? No, I don’t know you anymore. I don’t want to hurt anymore. Make it stop!  
  
Can’t think. Can’t feel. Don’t want to! Don’t want to remember! It hurts too much!  
  
Who am I? Why am I here? Where is here? Tell me!!!!   
  
No, come back! Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?  
  
It hurts! Stop! Can’t breathe. I am so tired. Please! I just want it to stop. Make it stop! -- Oliver screamed at the specters haunting him, or at least he thought he did, in his mind.   
  
Blurry images and faces from his former life had appeared before his eyes, floating in the gooey, green darkness that surrounded him. They had smiled at him. And he’d wanted to smile back, because he thought he knew them. He’d tried to touch them, but they were just out of his reach. Then, suddenly, the faces had turned into gaping, distorted maws and the hands into claws; coming at him, biting and scratching him, hurting him, tearing at the very fabric of his soul, shredding it. And it hurt! It hurt so badly. Piece by piece they tore from him, until he had nothing left to give. So he decided! Decided, he didn’t want to hurt anymore, didn‘t want feel anymore, didn’t want to remember. Because remembering hurt. Remembering meant pain. And so he forgot. Forgot the smiling faces and tender hands, forgot who he was and forgot where he came from. Until there was nothing left to remember.   
  
Oliver Queen had ceased to exist!  
  
xoxoxo  
  
„Felicity?“  
  
„Hmm.“   
  
„Felicity!“  
  
„Hmm. Five more minutes,“ she moaned pitifully, turning her head away from the irritating voice, that grated on her ears like sand squelching beneath rubber-soled feet, into the pillow. And that was, when it hit her - the smell! Sweat, old and worn leather, wood and earth, Oliver! She gasped awake instantly, eyes flying open, as if she had been touched by a life-wire.  
  
“Sshh, everything is okay!” Diggle tried to reassure her, laying a hand on the nearest shoulder. But Felicity just shook her head as she sat up, pulling the pillow into her lap, her knees to her chest and laying her head upon them, her arms forming a protective shell around herself.   
  
“No John, it isn’t,” she whispered sadly; “Nothing will ever be okay again.” She felt raw inside, her heart was a bleeding aching mess and she would’ve loved to rip it out her chest just to stop the pain. Make it go away. Sadly, she couldn’t.  
  
John didn’t know what to say or what to do. He couldn’t make it better, didn’t know how to help Felicity. Heck, he didn’t even know how to help himself. Oliver had been his best friend, a brother, if not by blood, then by choice. And the knowledge that he was gone hurt so damn bad! After Andy he would have never thought to feel that way ever again. How wrong he had been!  
  
Dig nodded, then he took Felicity into his arms. What else was there to do? They could share their grieve. It wouldn’t make the loss hurt any less, no, he knew that. But maybe, just maybe, it would make it a little easier to bear.  
  
„John?“ Felicity sniffled.  
  
“Yes?” He looked down at the blond IT-genius.  
  
“What do we do now?” Eyes wide, she angled her head to look up John, looking at him for guidance. John always knew what to do, didn’t he?   
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Felicity shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure, Dig. What do we do ‚now‘? I mean right NOW. And what about later… what about the team? I just don’t know, John. There are so many questions, and I can’t even begin to think about the answers.“ At the end her voice had broken away, lacking the strength to go on.  
  
But John understood; understood her only too well. Exhaling a deep breath, he answered: “I don’t know either. But we’ll find out together.“ He squeezed her shoulders gently. “One step at a time, I promise.” They were silent for a while, held onto each other, sharing their grief, but also lending each other strength.   
  
The spell was broken, when Roy approached from wherever he had been, a look of absolute determination on his face. “I know what to do.”  
  
Felicity looked wide-eyed at the young man, opening her mouth to demand he explain himself, but she didn’t get to.  
  
“We find him, and we bring him home!”  



	9. Mind and  body

_Last time: Felicity looked wide-eyed at the young man, opening her mouth to demand he explain himself, but she didn’t get to._  
  
 _“We find him, and we bring him home!”_  
  
xoxoxo  
  
“Roy,” John sighed, sounding for all the world like an impatient adult reprimanding a small child. But there was no anger in his voice, just resignation. He knew this train of thought would only lead to more heartbreak and pain. He would not encourage the boy’s …  
  
Diggle did not get to finish the thought, because at that moment Felicity sprang up from the bed, Oliver’s pillow still clutched to her chest as if it were a life-west, and began pacing up and down between the two men. After a while she mumbled a short “Yes!” then shook her head as if she was holding a silent conversation with herself. Finally she stopped, seemingly having reached a decision.  
  
“He is right, Dig. We have to find him! We have to bring Oliver home!” She looked wide-eyed at the man sitting on the bed, her voice full of conviction, full of new purpose, as she said those words.   
  
Diggle knew she was waiting for him to say something… anything… and he was loath to steal that hope away from her, but if he didn’t stop her, stop THEM now, this would only lead to disaster. They had to accept that Oliver was dead, that he wouldn’t come back, miraculously, a second time. Taking a deep breath, Diggle looked down at his hands, praying to find the right words to say.   
  
“Felicity…” he began.

But the blond IT-girl had already turned away from him, too impatient to wait for an answer, striding with renewed energy to the bank of computers in the middle of the Foundry, all the while muttering to herself. “Why didn’t I think of this? Where do I start? I’ve to… hm… Yes, yes. That might work.”   
  
Her fingers flitted this way and that and the computers and monitors in the Foundry awoke to new life under Felicity’s magic touch. She kept walking from one screen to the next, her fingers ghosting over keyboards and pressing keys, entering code-words here and search phrases there.   
  
_Damnit!_ Diggle looked accusingly at Roy, his eyes clearly saying ‘ _This is your fault! You did this! And now I have to fix it!_ ’ before standing up and following Felicity, leaving a perplexed Roy standing next to Oliver’s bed.

“What?”, asked Roy under his breath, bewildered at the silent non-conversation that had just taken place between him and the older man, well, it had been mostly Dig ‘speaking’, then he shrugged his shoulders and followed him.   
  
When Diggle finally reached her, he stepped into blond whirlwind’s way. “Felicity?” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. “John?”  
  
Taking a deep breath and then blowing it out slowly, he looked directly into her eyes. “Don’t do this Felicity. Don’t do this to yourself.“  
  
„Do what, John?“

Diggle sighed. „Do I really have to spell it out for you?”  
  
She didn’t say anything, just waited for him to continue.

 _So be it_ , John thought. Better do it now than picking up the pieces later. “He’s dead, Felicity. He won’t be coming back! You have to know that! You have to accept…“  
  
At this she finally exploded. “Don’t you think I know that?” Felicity hissed, throwing up her hands agitatedly. “Do you think me a fool, John.” -- “I know that he is dead! I know!”

“Then what…?” He asked bewildered.  
  
Felicity blew out a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It wasn’t Dig’s fault. He was just looking out for her. „His body, John. I want to bring home his body,“ she whispered sadly. “He belongs home, with us.”

xoxoxo  
  
Maseo gazed sadly through the bars into the dark cell. On a thin, thread-bare mattress, pushed into the furthest and darkest corner of the room, a shivering man lay, his eyes staring into the nothingness beyond, a world removed from this time and space. He had been for days now, since Ra’s had raised his unconscious body from the pit, healed from his grievous wounds, and had born him to this place. Maseo knew, he should rejoice, because his friend lived _. ‘But is this really living_?’   
  
For all intents and purposes, Oliver looked dead… if it hadn’t been for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Sometimes he would blink. Or mutter. Sometimes a shudder would take hold of the man’s whole body. But mostly he was just laying still. _A living corpse_ , Maseo thought.   
  
Maseo nodded to the two men guarding the cell, before sliding back the bolt and opening the door carefully. He entered the cell on silent feet, walking forward until had nearly reached the man, leaving maybe three or four feet to spare. Only then did he kneel and set down the bowl, pushing it forward another few inches with his hands. _Better to be safe_ …

Last time, Maseo shuddered at the memory, hadn’t been so pleasant. Bringing with him a bowl filled with oatmeal, Maseo had opened the cell’s door, hoping Oliver would recognize or react to him in some way. He’d entered the cell and walked up to the silent form on the mattress, kneeling next to it. “I know you are in there somewhere, Oliver. You have to eat something… my friend,” he had whispered, speaking the last two words hesitantly.   
  
When no reaction had come, not even a blink of an eye, he had set down the bowl with one hand, while touching Oliver’s shoulder with the other. And at that point, everything had gone utterly, utterly wrong. He’d found himself staring at the ceiling of the cell, strong hands pressing down on his throat, nearly suffocating him. Oliver had knelt above him, staring at him with wild, uncomprehending eyes, his whole body wracked by shudders. Then, as if some invisible strings had been cut, he’d tumbled back against the wall, crawling backwards until he could go no further, muttered and hissed barely audible words. “No… touch. Touch hurts. Don’t touch. Don’t know! Please… hurts… no… touch… no! Don’t! …“   
  
Maseo had not dared to move again, for fear of startling Oliver a second time. He’d also feared what the guards would do to the man, if they witnessed this behavior. So he’d waited until the mutterings had ceased, before picking himself off the ground. Looking down at his friend, he’d found the man awake, but his eyes, they had been staring straight ahead, into nothingness.

And they still did…   
  
Maseo shook himself from the memory and stood up. “I have to leave… - but I will come back tomorrow.“ It was a promise.


	10. A helping hand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I couldn't update yesterday. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

_Last time: Looking down at his friend, he’d found the man awake, but his eyes, they had been staring straight ahead, into nothingness._

_And they still did…_   
  
_Maseo shook himself from the memory and stood up. “I have to leave… - but I will come back tomorrow.“ It was a promise._

xoxoxo

The days that followed were a repeat of the same. Maseo would come down to the cell every day, bringing with him bowls filled with something eatable – mostly it was oatmeal made of yak-milk - but sometimes he was able to get his hands on a pot of steaming stew or a loaf of bread. Always he would offer it to the man, praying, hoping, sometimes even resorting to begging him to eat.   
  
Oliver never did, never reacted, never showed any indication that he was even aware of Maseo’s presence or what was going on around him. He just lived in silence...   
  
On some days Maseo would get a glimpse at the hell that was Oliver’s mind, when he found the man muttering to himself, spitting or hissing phrases at non-existing figments of his imagination, rocking back and forth on his knees, begging desperately not to be touched or claiming he ‘didn’t know’. It was heartbreaking to see this once so strong individual brought literally to his knees.

He would leave the bowls with Oliver, but when he returned the next day, they would still sit untouched on the floor where he had left them; stew gone cold and milk turned sour. This couldn’t continue. He needed to do something!  
  
xoxoxo  
  
Sarab steeled himself, before entering The Demon’s chambers, leaving the part that was Maseo behind. In the presence of this man he could not afford to appear compassionate or caring, because this his master would see as a weakness. And weakness he did NOT tolerate, had killed men for lesser reasons…

After entering, Sarab waited to be acknowledged by Ra’s al Ghul. The man was sitting at an old-fashioned wooden desk, writing something in a leather-bound book; his quill scratching across ancient paper was the only sound disturbing the heavy silence that hung across the marble-floored chamber.   
  
Sarab did not know how long he waited, but after some time, Ra’s al Ghul laid down the quill next to the book, before closing it … reverently. “Did you know, Sarab,” he asked rhetorically while slowly standing up, still facing the desk, the fingers that still rested lightly on its edge, framing his body, enhancing his regal postured, ”that this book is worth to me more than any piece of gold to be found Nanda Parbat? It holds my most precious memories. In it I’ve collected all the things I’ve seen and learned throughout my life.” He turned to face the assassin, the trim of gis heavy dark robe curling around his feet. “So, what is so important, that you feel the need to disturb me at this hour… ?”   
  
Still confident that he had made the right decision, Sarab looked straight at Ra’s at Ghul, suppressing the urge to flinch at the man’s piercing gaze which lingered on him with a clearness and sharpness that made his skin crawl like thousand worms sat upon it. _Remember; don’t show any weakness,_ he told himself. A lesson he had been taught well by Amanda Waller, and mastered under Ra’s al Ghul. Indeed, it had been years since he last felt a bond of kinship to someone which could have stirred his emotions. He had all but forgotten and buried them since the death of… _No!_ He closed the door on that memory as soon as sprang open.  
  
“Master, it has been four days now, since you raised him from the Pit. He still won’t eat. It is, as if he isn’t all ‘here’. He doesn’t recognize his surroundings; he has locked himself away in his own mind.” Sarab explained in a detached voice, eyes looking straight ahead at the far wall; trying to sound unaffected by Oliver’s predicament.   
  
The Demon nodded his head. „The effects of the Pit still have a hold over him. It crazes the mind, for a time, and shrouds one’s senses and memories, cloaking them in a dark mist.”  
  
Ra’s paused in his speech, folded his hand behind his back and walked to a set of windows overlooking his courtyard and the city of Nanda Parbat. It was daylight ‘outside’. The roofs of the houses below gleamed red, where they were shined on by the sun’s rays that managed to find their way through the shafts in the cavern’s dome-like ceiling.

One hand still held behind his back, he let the other rest lightly on the hilt of his sword. His finger, the one adorned with the claw-shaped ring, thoughtfully ticked on the hilt’s heavy knob. As he stood there, his tall frame was bathed in a golden glow by the light that streamed through the honey-colored glass, setting the ornaments on his dark mantle and the claw-like ring on his hand afire, like a dark phoenix rising from the ashes.

Gazing down upon the houses and the people mingling in the narrow alleys, he continued his explanation: “He can’t see you and he won’t remember you - or the man you once were - Sarab. That part of him is lost… Now all that remains of him, is the ‘man’… and he has to find his own way back.”  
  
“What shall I … we… do with him until then?”  
  
Ra’s al Ghul turned away from the window, looking at his trusted assassin with narrowed eyes. “Do whatever it takes to keep him alive. I don’t care. Force feed him. Or sedate him. It doesn’t matter to me. But make sure he stays alive… “  
  
“As you wish, master,“ Sarab bowed in obeisance and turned to leave.  
  
„And Sarab?“   
  
The Demon’s dark voice made him halt in his steps. “Yes, master?”  
  
„This task I place upon your shoulders. Do NOT fail me… or your life will be forfeit as well.“  
  
Sarab swallowed barely noticeable, before nodding. “Understood”  
  
xoxoxo  
  
Oh, how he hated to this, but he had no other choice! – _I am sorry_. _Please forgive me_ , he prayed silently, before instructing the men next to him. “Hold him!”  
  
At his words the two guards who had entered the cell with Sarab, strode towards the man lying apathetically on his thin mattress. Oliver lay, his back facing away from the door, staring with open, uncomprehending eyes at the wall in front of him. But as soon as the guards touched him, he exploded into motion, struggling and writhing under their hands. The men could barely contain his flailing limps.

“I said, hold him!” Maseo yelled angrily at the two soldiers, as he tried to grab Oliver’s chin with his left hand. In the other he held a bowl with thin broth, something he had deemed would be easy enough to feed to an ‘uncooperative’ person.  
  
Sarab struggled to maintain his one-handed grip on Oliver’s chin, but the man would not be held. With corded neck muscles he yanked away from the unwanted touch, as far as he could. A desperate “NO!” fell from his lips, then again. He began reciting it senselessly like a mantra. “No. NO! Don’t touch me… please… can’t... hurts…”  
  
Maseo closed his eyes, just for a moment, wished he could un-see and un-hear his friends desperate struggles. How he hated this! Then he steeled himself, knowing he had no other choice. If he didn’t do it, someone else would…   
  
Ignoring his old friend’s desperate pleas of ‘No’ and ‘Don’t touch!’, he called for another guard. “This doesn’t work. You…!“, he instructed the third guard, “… hold his legs!”   
  
This freed the other two guards enough to finally be able to hold down Oliver’s shoulders and capture his arms. He was still writhing, bucking and hissing beneath them, his body one taut bow of muscle, but Maseo was able to grip his chin, forcing his mouth open by forcefully pressing his thumb and index finger into Oliver’s cheeks, until the sheer pain and pressure made him gasp. Holding Oliver’s mouth open with brute strength, Maseo slowly fed him the contents of the bowl, mouthful by slow mouthful, waiting every time until he stopped choking, instinct making him swallow the by now cold broth.  
  
When they were done, he released Oliver’s chin immediately, dropping the bowl as if it was a hot coal scorching his hand, then swiped it angrily into a corner of the cell. With a last look at the once again inert form of his friend, he stood and barked out a “Release him!”, before he turned and fled the cell. He had done this to help Oliver! Why did he feel so dirty now?     
  



	11. Bitch with Wi-Fi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I will be able to keep up with the daily-updates, even though it is holiday season right now. I hope to be able to update every two to three days, though. Thanks again for the lovely reviews and all the kudos! Have a happy holiday!

_Last time: When they were done, he released Oliver’s chin immediately, dropping the bowl as if it was a hot coal scorching his hand, then swiped it angrily into a corner of the cell. With a last look at the once again inert form of his friend, he stood and barked out a “Release him!”, before he turned and fled the cell. He had done this to help Oliver! Why did he feel so dirty now?_  
  
xoxoxo  
  
“Did you find something?” Diggle asked, setting down the styrofoam-cup of hot java next to the two sets of fingers flying in hyper-speed across the keyboard.  
  
“Not yet,” the owner of the fingers answered distractedly, then faltered and eventually stopped altogether, sniffing the air like a hound looking for its prey, before her eyes zeroed in on the cup of coffee. _Yes!_   
  
“Dig, you’re a godsend!” Felicity exclaimed happily, clasping the too hot beverage between her hands. She raised it to her face, closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma wafting up from the cup with a contented sigh, before finally taking her first sip. It made her taste-buds explode in happiness.  
  
Diggle let his hip rest on the computer table’s surface and smiled fondly at the woman. „Frankly, I find your relationship with coffee a little disturbing Felicity. Should I leave you two alone?” Diggle joked in an attempt at levity, trying to lighten the gloomy atmosphere that had taken hold of the Foundry since its owner had gone missing. It worked… at least a little.  
  
„Really?“ Felicity let her head drop back to the nape of her neck, staring up the man towering above her. “You know… I could say the same about you and your guns. Or the way Oliver treats his arrows. It’s almost like he…“ The blond IT-genius faltered suddenly. And just like that the atmosphere darkened again.

Felicity shook her head. “I am sorry,” she whispered.  
  
Diggle laid a hand upon her shoulder “Don’t be. -- Where are we with our search?” He asked after some seconds had passed, trying to steer Felicity away from possible morose thoughts. Better to focus on the task at hand.   
  
And it worked. She set down her coffee and turned back to her computers. „It’s almost like Oliver didn’t want to be found.” she explained with a sigh. ”In the last two days I scanned every stored camera-footage I could get my hands on with our facial-image-recognition-software. And I mean, everything! Police. Banks. Shops. Airports. Train-stations -- nothing!!! I even hacked into Argus’ main-frame, sifting by hand through the satellite-images of various exit points of the city. Again nothing!!! I even tried to match other data… you know… like they do in those CSI-Shows… his height and weight… clothes.” At the end of her description Felicity was nearly yelling in frustration.  
  
Dig nodded, understanding his friend’s frustration, because he was feeling the same way. It had always been Oliver’s default ‘setting’ – doing stuff alone, being a one man-routine – had been ingrained into him by his five years on the island, and probably, Diggle guessed, by working for Amanda Waller. The latter was only an assumption, of course, because he did not have any proof whatsoever, but still a quiet solid one, in John’s opinion. Oliver had become better at ‘sharing’ their tasks lately, learning to trust his team. But in the end, when it came down to their safety, if Oliver perceived some kind of threat – real or imagined – to the ream, he would revert to his default setting. Like it was some kind of security blanket.   
  
“That doesn’t surprise me. This is Oliver we are talking about.” He said.  
  
Felicity grunted in agreement. She knew only too well, what Diggle meant. “Since we literally have no clue where Oliver went or where he was supposed to meet Nyssa’s darling psychopath of a father, I don’t know where else to look!”  
  
That’s when it hit her! “Oh. My. God!“ She exclaimed, her eyes widening comically „I am soooo stupid! Why didn’t I think of this before?“     
  
“What?” Diggle had a bewildered expression on his face. He had no clue what Felicity was talking about, could rarely follow the woman’s mental leaps and saltos.   
  
“Nyssa!” She exclaimed excitedly.  
  
Still not getting it, he asked: „What about Nyssa?“  
  
„All this time, I have tried to track Oliver’s movements. Without success. Because he didn’t want to be found and made sure to either stay clear of all the cameras or… I don’t know. But he knew how I operate and so he knew to avoid any places or means I could electronically track him.”  
  
“So?” Diggle’s left eyebrow ticked in frustration. He was about to shake Felicity by the shoulders to get a clear answer.  
  
“What if Nyssa didn’t?” There was a gleam of hope in Felicity’s eyes as she said those words.   
  
“What if Nyssa didn’t what?” A new voice asked. Roy.  
  
Felicity hadn’t even heard the young man enter the Foundry, such was her distraction. She turned to look at Roy, who still wore his Arsenal suit and carried his bow, scanning him for injuries, while he mounted his bow on its holder inside the glass stand. She always did that with the boys. It had become a habit…  
  
When she didn’t immediately answer, Roy asked again. “You said something about Nyssa. What about her?”   
  
So Felicity explained again. “I still haven’t found any trace of Oliver or where he went. I think he didn’t want to be found, because he knew I would … we would try to find him, and because of that he avoided every place he knew I could remotely hack. But what if Nyssa didn’t?”  
  
Diggle and Roy looked at each other, finally grasping what Felicity had been rambling about. There was a very high chance that Nyssa had attended the duel between Oliver and her father. So she would have had to get there somehow. And maybe, just maybe she hadn’t been as thorough and systematic in hiding her trails as Oliver had. After all, she had no reason to do so; she did not want to protect the team. And she didn’t know just how good Felicity was with a computer.   
  
The three remaining team-members looked hopefully at each other. This might be a real chance to find Oliver. They had to try!  
  
„Do it!“ Roy and Diggle both said in unison, but Felicity was already a step ahead of them.  
  
“On it!” She exclaimed.     



	12. Too much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. I know I already warned you, I wouldn't be able to update every day from now on, but I still feel like I let you AND myself down.
> 
> But being a non-native speaker makes writing this story so much more difficult. Every time I am not sure how to spell a word correctly, I look it up. That tikes time. Add to this that I am a perfectionist, the upcoming christmas holidays, etc. - voila - two to three days have passed.
> 
> On top of it, I know have found a wonderful fellow fanfiction-writer who proofreads my stories, which also takes some time. Bite I am sooo incredible grateful for 'Yseult' doing this for me. Thank you so much!
> 
> Have fun reading this chapter.

_Last time: The three remaining team-members looked hopefully at each other. This might be a real chance to find Oliver. They had to try!_  
  
 _„Do it!“ Roy and Diggle both said in unison, but Felicity was already a step ahead of them._  
  
 _“On it!” She exclaimed._   
  
xoxoxo

He shivered. Not for actual physical cold. But rather a lingering memory of utter coldness so deeply settled into his bones that it seemed impossible to ever feel warm again. A sharp, unrelenting pain. It radiated outwards from his core, seeping into every cell and through every pore of his body, making his skin feel tingly and sensitive. A thousand icy needles piercing his skin. It hurt!   
  
Maybe, if he didn’t move, it wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe, if he just lay still, it would go away, he thought. And so he lay utterly still. Prayed. Hoped. Sometimes, he even wished for death to come and claim him, just so the pain and the coldness would stop. But it never did. He was made to endure and withstand the coldness as the pain lingered on.   
  
They made him numb to all other sensations, consumed his every waking moment, making it hard to focus on any other thought or anything around him. The world was there, he could see it, sense it, and yet it was beyond his reach. He was trapped in his frozen shell. Couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t remember.

Sometimes the coldness would recede for a time, allowing him some freedom of thought. His eyes would focus, showing him the world which lay beyond. They would roam around the dark room he was in, taking in the dirty, earth packed floor and the stony wall in front of his face. He would smell the musty scent of the air around him and feel the coarse material of the mattress he was laying on beneath his fingertips. How had he come to be here? Where was ’here’?   
  
But those fleeting thoughts vanished, when the coldness returned.  
  
Other times his mind would show him fleeting images. Memories? Never whole ones, just fragments. There was a hand holding an arrow. He saw a zipper on a red hoody. He witnessed a dark hand shaking a light one. And for some reason he saw the keys of a keyboard. But most often he saw a smiling mouth framed by pink lips. Who were these people? Who was the woman with the pink lips? Did he know them?   
  
He strained to see more, desperately wanting to remember, but the images remained hazy, and every time he tried to focus on them, a dark green mist would rise to swallow them. He dreaded those moments. The images would begin to morph; the shaking hands would become fists, the hand holding the arrow turned into a claw, the smiling was replaced by a gaping maw. And they would start to tear at him, bite him, hurting him.  
  
If he had the strength left, his senses not yet having dulled and his body turned numb, he would gasp, begging them to leave him alone, to make the pain stop. _Don’t know you. No. Don’t touch. Hurts. No…_ It was an endless cycle from where escape seemed impossible. Cold, pain, numbness, misery. When would it end?  
  
Suddenly, an unbearable pain, sliced through his skin, a cold burning touch at his ankles, wrists and on his face. It had happened twice before! And it made him want to scream, but he lacked the breath to do so. Instead he could just twist and writhe and gasp. Broken pleas fell from his lips: ‘ _No… please… don’t. Hurts. Don’t touch._ \- _Nooo!’_

xoxoxo  
  
Maseo angrily threw the cell door shut and closed the bolt. Another day he wished he could strike from his memory. But the human mind was a thing of beauty, making him able to relive and see all his memories in glorious detail. The ones he cherished, though they had become few, and the ones he would rather forget; this one being one of the latter. It would be forever burned into his mind, the body of his ‘friend’ lying struggling, writhing and gasping beneath him, as he was fed another bowl of broth.  
  
He gritted his teeth, chancing a look through the bars of the door into the dark interior of the cell, catching a glimpse of Oliver’s shivering form. _Damnit!_ Taking a deep breath to center himself, he looked at the guards, who had helped him with his task. “Leave!” he ordered in the calmest of voices, barely more than a whisper. They nodded and went without question. After all, he was their superior, and it did not do to question one’s superior’s orders.   
  
Maseo waited for their footsteps to retreat, until he could no longer hear them, before giving in and sliding down the cell’s door, until he reached the floor. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back against the wooden blanks and exhaled deeply. This had to stop. He did not know how long he could continue. And yet, he had to. Oliver had to survive, such had been the task given to him by The Demon. And even if he hadn’t been ordered to do it, he still would have had to find a way, to ‘help’ his friend. He just wished there was another way…

“Sarab?”  
  
His body tensed at the softly spoken word. He hadn’t even heard Halari approach. „What are you doing down here?“ Maseo questioned her, his voice rougher than usual with annoyance, while hastily standing up and berating himself for being so preoccupied that he had lost awareness of his surroundings. It wouldn’t happen again!  
  
Halari’s stood before him, hands folded in front of her, her gaze demurely lowered, she appeared the perfect picture of subservience. She looked at him from beneath long, dark lashes, her dark orbs studying the man in front of her, then, without a word, she stepped up to the cell-door to gaze inside. She seemed considered Oliver’s shivering frame for a while, not a word crossing her lips. Silence hung across the torch-lit corridor like a stifling blanket on a hot summer’s night. Her eyes still on the foreigner, she finally answered. “Master sent me, he wants to know how this one is doing.” But her voice sounded odd to Maseo, the pitch just slightly off, almost wistful. Was it really The Demon who wanted to know?     
  
“It is hard to say. His mind is a dark place, it seems. And he still can’t bear to be touched. For some reason it seems to cause him insufferable agony.” Maseo told her, and then paused as if he was considering his next words very carefully. “I once called him my friend. And it pains me to see him this way. I wish I knew how to help him.” He confessed to the woman with a sad shake of his had.  
  
Halari turned towards him, a kind smile on her lips, one that reached the eyes. “I might know of a way,” she whispered. With those words, she took his right hand in both of hers, laid something into the palm of his hand and folded his fingers across it. Then, without another word, she left as silently as she had come.

When she was gone, Maseo opened his hand. And in it he found a small vial of amber colored liquid.


	13. Nerd. Hacker. Vigilante... Housebreaker?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. Thanks for staying with me/the story.
> 
> Also a big thank you AGAIN to Yseult for proofreading and giving me tips on how to improve my writing. I seem to learn something new with every chapter. 
> 
> Please leave a review and let me know what you think about the chapter/story!

_Last time: With those words, she took his right hand in both of hers, laid something into the palm of his hand and folded his fingers across it. Then, without another word, she left as silently as she had come._

_When she was gone, Maseo opened his hand. And in it he found a small vial of amber colored liquid._

xoxoxo  
  
The Foundry was filled with the sound of wooden sticks meeting each other in combat. Clang. Clang. Swosh. Clang. Again and again they clashed, filling the air with their rhythmic percussion. The noise carried in the large cavernous space of the underground lair, filling every nook and cranny.  
  
There was a short pause as Dig and Roy circled each other on the mats, analyzing their opponent’s moves, weighing options and planning their next attacks. Seconds ticked by. And suddenly, as if on a silent agreement, that short reprieve ended.   
  
Roy attacked the older man with a right-handed jab to the ribs, which Dig intercepted easily with his own stick, redirecting Roy’s hit into empty space. Using the momentum of this move, he ducked in a spin, his backhanded strike taking out the younger man’s knee, making it fold. Roy hit the mats. Face first!

“Again!” Diggle demanded promptly.   
  
Roy looked up at the man he had come to see as another mentor. John Diggle had taken him in as soon as Oliver brought him into the fold. No questions asked. And Roy would be eternally grateful for that. But damn, the man was a hard taskmaster. So Roy sighed, stood up, took his stance and they began their dance anew.   
  
They traded several blows, falling into a pattern. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left…

“Finally!”

Felicity’s shout made Roy glance in her direction, a purely instinctual reaction, to which he paid the price immediately. He never saw the Escrima-stick coming that he would have otherwise blocked with one of his own, or at least his forearm - it landed with a resounding smack.   
  
To stunned to move, it took a second for the pain to register. “Owww. Damnit!” He yelled and shot a mean look at Diggle, while carefully touching his aching jaw, opening and closing it, to try and determine if anything was broken. It certainly felt that way. _Ugh…_  
  
“What is it, blondie? And for future reference, could you ‘please’ curb your need to yell out while we’re training. _Ugh…_ I think the big guy knocked a few of my teeth loose.” Roy complained, but there was no real bite behind his words, as he approached her part of the lair, followed by a not in the least bit remorseful looking John Diggle.

The woman in question pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders innocently. “If you boys feel the need to beat each other up with bamboo-sticks… well…” She didn’t finish the sentence. And she didn’t look remorseful either, Roy noted, quiet to the contrary!  
  
“They are called Escrima-sticks” Roy corrected her while reverently laying down the sticks Oliver had only just shown him how to use.   
  
He remembered sitting down with Oliver one evening in the lair. He had thought they would do another training session with the bow. Instead Oliver had opened an old box, revealing a set of four ‘bamboo-sticks’. Today, Roy regretted his first reaction to the Escrima-sticks. Back then, he had rolled his eyes at his mentor, asking him if they were now gonna beat each other up with sticks. And what use would they be against the weapons of their opponents. At his words, Oliver’s lips had ticked up in a reminiscent half-smile. ‘They are called Escrima-sticks’, he had explained, ‘Let me teach you, and you’ll see.’ Now, those very same sticks were a part of his ‘arsenal’. He carried them in holders on his lower legs. “And we didn’t beat each other up, we were training. That is, until you so rudely interrupted us.”

Felicity just rolled her eyes, choosing not comment on that. Instead she swiveled her chair back towards her computers. With a few lightning-fast strokes on her keyboard the small screen’s content suddenly appeared on the widescreen monitor that stood in the center of the lair.   
  
“Like I already said, I found something.” She repeated her earlier words, stood and walked up to the touchscreen-monitor which showed at least a hundred different pictures and videos on its huge surface. The boys, still sweaty from their training-session, towels around their necks, followed her, their curiosity piqued.  
  
“What did you find?” Dig’s words were slightly muffled by the towel he was wiping his face with.   
  
“It wasn’t easy. I had to go back to the day Oliver left and sift my way through several thousand gigabites of stored camera-footage. But I found her. We were right. She wasn’t as careful in hiding her tracks as Oliver, probably, because she saw no need to.”

“Good for us,” mumbled Roy, not yet sure what Felicity was hinting at. But he was positive, he would find out soon enough.  
  
Without comment, Felicity touched one of the images to enlarge it to full-screen mode.   
  
Dig’s eyes widened imperceptibly. There she was. Nyssa al Ghul. She wore regular clothes, yes, but Dig would have recognized that face; the long, jet-black hair and the stiff and almost regal posture anywhere. He was sure! A surge of anger passed through him, made him grit his teeth and tighten the hold on the towel in his left hand. How dare she? He knew, she would have been aware of the cameras. Maybe not all of them. But she had to know that they were there, filming everyone passing by. And yet, she still strutted along those halls, as if she owned them. As if she didn’t care.   
  
Next to her another tall man walked, his features identifying him as to be, at least partly, of Asian origin. He had long black hair, held back in a strict ponytail. Who was he? Maybe another league member?   
  
A tap of Felicity’s fingers brought the image to life. It turned into a video, showing Nyssa and the as yet unknown man entering a gangway to board a plane. “This was taken by a camera at the Starling City Airport on the same day Oliver left.”   
  
Roy and Dig looked from the screen to Felicity, waiting for her to go on, knowing she had more information lined up to share with them. No question about that. This was Felicity. With a little bit of finger magic, Felicity turned the huge monitor into a three-way split-screen, one side still showing the video, another holding the flight manifests of Starling City Airport and below both a map filled the rest of the screen.   
  
“I checked all her known or otherwise possible aliases. She took a flight under the name ‘Nyssa Ratkoo, the one we already knew by the way, to Calgary, Canada. The man who was with her, his name is Maseo Tatsume, probably also an alias. From there they chartered a small Cessna to take them to …” While speaking, she had swiped her fingers across the map, enlarging the part she wanted to show the boys. “…here. Banff, a small city at the base of the Canadian Rockies, just slightly more than 7000 citizens.”

Dig narrowed his eyes, analyzing the map that showed the small town and its surrounding area. His sense of tactical awareness – honed by years in the military and leading men across dangerous terrain, having to plan routes and find secures locations – kick-started. “This doesn’t make sense.” He concluded with a shake of his head

Felicity raised an eyebrow, astonishment written in big, bold letters all over her features – like a neon sign. Did Dig just question her search results? He had never done that before. She was about to ask him to explain that statement, but didn’t get to. Dig continued as if he had noticed her consternation. Knowing Dig, he probably had.  
  
“I mean solely from a tactical standpoint.” He clarified. “This makes no sense to me. Banff is too small and doesn’t have any large, solid structures one could fortify or use as base of operations, even less a hidden one. It is also too open and stretched out to hold on to it easily. I can’t imagine this being Nyssa’s final destination or there being a hidden League-base. They’ve probably moved on from there. Do we know where? Do you have any information on where she went… Felicity?” Dig looked questioningly at her.   
  
Felicity shook her head, her squinted eyes making frown lines pop up on her forehead, clearly showing her frustration. “No. Sadly, Banff’s small airport still lives in the electronic middle ages. They have a closed monitoring system, which isn’t connected to any servers I could hack or gain entry to. As far as I know, they still store their video-data analogical.”   
  
Dig, thought he almost heard her growl as she spoke those last words.  
  
“I mean, who still does that?” It sounded almost like she took it as a personal affront.  
  
“Well, obviously they do,” Roy added, regretting it the very moment the words had left his mouth, because Felicity shot him a dark look. He raised his hands in surrender, choosing to pick his battles elsewhere, ones, he could preferably win! Instead he asked the more pressing question. “What do we do now?”  
  
It was Dig who answered. “Since Felicity can’t hack their data remotely and we need to get our hands on it, I only see one option.” He concluded. “We have to go there and do some old-fashioned break and entry. Are you up for it Roy?”  
  
The young man rolled his eyes. “You know who you are talking to, right? Right!”  
  
Felicity sighed. “Great. I am computer-scientist, turned hacker, turned vigilante-sidekick, turned housebreaker,” she muttered under her breath. “Well, it isn’t like I haven’t done it before,” she added in an almost cheerful afterthought.


	14. Bedtime stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a ages to write. I find it easier to describe the thoughts and actions of Felicity and her boys than this stuff. But I think it turned out well. Thanks again to my beta Yseult!
> 
> You should try out her story 'Alone'

_Last time: Felicity sighed. “Great. I am computer-scientist, turned hacker, turned vigilante-sidekick, turned housebreaker,” she muttered under her breath. “Well, it isn’t like I haven’t done it before,” she added in an almost cheerful afterthought._

ooxoxo

The courtyard of Ras’ al Ghul’s palace was the largest _free_ space to be found in the ancient, subterranean city of Nanda Parbat whose narrow alleys and small squares had to be wrested from the very stone of the mountain and carved into the form they now stood.   
  
Rows of houses, each sharing a wall with the next, because it had been easier and more practical to build that way, lined the narrow streets, overhanging marquees building places for merchants to set up their stands and wares. People mingled in the narrow walkways between the stands, some of them dragging carts behind them; others, donkeys whose backs sacked under the weight of the heavy crates they were made to carry, forcing people to step aside or have their feet trampled.   
  
But all streets led to one place, like the rays of the sun could be traced back to their center: The Demon’s palace. Its courtyard was surrounded by a high wall, setting it apart from the rest of the houses. None could enter there without permission, or being noticed by the guards.

Maseo sat on a stack of old crates in the palace’s courtyard, his back to the ancient, cracked wall, removed from the well-trodden paths that led to the palace’s main entrance. This one led to a storage cellar at the far end of the courtyard, only ever used by the servants or merchants that brought or collected their wares. The stack of empty crates, on which he now sat, had been placed next to the cellar’s door, to be collected by the merchants.   
  
It was a quiet place, a place for him to think.  
  
In his hand he held the vial that Halari had given to him. It was small, its round body fitting easily in the palm of his hand and the smooth glass surface had warmed to his touch. Holding the vial in the air, so it sat on the tips of his fingers, it was hit by one of the few sunrays that found their way into Nanda Parbat and the Demon’s courtyard. He curiously studied the honey-colored liquid. What did it contain? It looked innocent enough. Maseo looked at it from different angles, but was left without an answer. Only more questions. Should he trust Halari? Should he give this to man, he once called friend? What would happen if he did? What, if he didn’t? Had she been sent by their master? He didn’t think so, yet he couldn’t be sure.   
  
A drawn-out sigh escaped his lipsas his brown settled into a deep frown. He would have to decide soon. But not now. He palmed the small vial and slid it carefully back into a hidden pocket in the folds of his black tunic. He composed his features, slipping back… he slipped back into the role that had become his second nature, Sarab, soldier in The Demon’s League. He had to attend to his duties…

xoxoxo  
  
Halari felt the cool caress of the silken sheets, where they touched her naked skin. The soft folds draped lightly across her thigh and hip and covered one delicate breast, as she lay sprawled on her side, facing the edge of the bed. Her fingers drew light circles on the gleaming, blood red silk, a color of such dark richness, such depths that she sometimes wondered, if it hadn’t been bathed in actual blood to achieve the effect. The thought made her shudder, because she wouldn’t put it beyond her master’s capability to do so.  
  
She stared blankly ahead, trying to rid her mind of that gruesome image. Thus, she wasn’t prepared for the arm that snaked across her middle and the large hand that suddenly splayed across her abdomen, the span of it almost covering it completely and staking a possessive claim. She looked down at the fingers now unadorned by their demonic jewelry, taking in their smooth appearance. But that smoothness was deceptive, hiding behind its mask a deadly and cruel strength. It would as easily wield a sword to cleave a man’s body from its head or rule with an iron fist, as it now lightly caressed the skin on her abdomen.  
  
“What is it, you are thinking about, Halari?” His cool, rich voice was right next to her ear, his breath ghosting over the bare skin at the nape of her neck, causing goose-bumps to rise on her skin. For a short, breath-stealing moment she went rigid, her mind flashing through possible scenarios how he could have found out, what she did, before consciously telling herself to relax, forcing her muscles to uncoil from their tense state. He couldn’t possibly know…

“Nothing, master,” Her voice was pitched in a low demure whisper

“Now, Halari, you should know better than to lie to me.” The hand on her abdomen pressed more firmly against her, making her aware of its presence once more. His fingers felt unnaturally hot against her skin, almost like live coal touching it, their heat just shy of searing her skin. It slowly started to seep through the layers of dermis until it reached her body’s core.

Knowing she could not evade his question or she would make herself suspicious, she rolled over to face Ra’s al Ghul, the blood red sheets clutched to her chest, so they wouldn’t slip, unconsciously… or maybe even consciously creating a barrier between them.  
  
She chose to answer his question as truthfully as she could, giving him the part of the truth she could reveal, knowing he would detect if she offered him another lie. “I was wondering about the boy.”  
  
A dark eyebrow was raised, telling her she should continue. It wasn’t a suggestion, she knew, and so she continued hesitantly, partly, because it was the expected reaction she needed to portray to be believable, but the other half was born of her real fear of accidently slipping along the way and revealing too much. “Master, you never brought somebody home with you before. I … I know it isn’t my place to question you. -- I simply wondered why you brought him to Nanda Parbat, why you chose to heal him.” A knot had formed in her stomach, hard and cold, it replaced the warmth of her master’s touch, a manifestation of her fear. “I w-would never have spoken of these thoughts aloud, master.”  
  
His inscrutable, sable-ringed eyes studied her, not revealing the thoughts in their hidden depth. Had she said too much? Was he angry? Was he amused? It made Halari want to squirm and she had to consciously force herself not to do so. She lowered her head instead, her eyes closing until she felt the light flutter of her long lashes on her skin, trying to hide her very real fear. A firm touch upon the crown of her head tilted it back, so she had to look at him again.   
  
The Demon nodded his head. “You are correct, child. You have neither the right nor the wisdom to question my motives… Hush… don’t speak…” He told her, as he saw her pupils constrict in fear, revealing the whites of her eyes which stood out against her olive-toned skin and dark brown eyes. Her lips had parted as if to speak in defense of herself.   
  
“I know you did not speak those words aloud, until I asked you to reveal your thoughts to me. Therefor I will not punish you for them. I know one as young as you cannot control one’s thoughts. But make no mistake, dearest child, if you ever were to utter those words aloud to anyone, my punishment would be swift and merciless. Do you understand this?” The hand on top of her head had tensed into a claw like shape, gripping it tightly, almost painfully.  
  
Ra’s al Ghul‘s eyes held a dark, fiery promise, as he looked down at the woman beneath him. And his words, devoid of anger, were tinged with the edge of a hard forged steel-blade. Sharp and unforgiving. You did not stray from the path The Demon set before you, never! Or you would pay the price!

“I understand.” Halari breathed out her answer. At this the fingers in her hair relaxed, releasing her.  
  
„Good.“ Just one word, but it made Halari finally feel like she could breathe again.   
  
There was a pause, as if he considering his next words. “He surprised me…,” he revealed, drawing Halari’s curious gaze back to him. “… intrigued me, this boy. Oliver Queen. Though his name is of no relevance here. He’s a good fighter, still a lad struggling to handle his first blade compared to me, but he fought better than any of my trained assassins. Stood longer in combat against me than any man I can remember. I admire that. And he survived injuries that should have seen him dead.”  
  
Halari hhmmd, but chose not to say anything to interrupt her master’s monologue. She knew he rarely shared his thoughts and motivations, even with his daughter Nyssa.   
  
“I chose to see this as a sign. He is destined for a greater purpose. Not protecting this… this Starling City.” He spat the name with disgust. “I tell you this, for soon all here will know of his existence. I will break him, if necessary. And then I will train him to be the best fighter the League has ever known… to stand by my side.”

When he had finished, he looked down upon the woman in his arms. Conviction burned hot in his eyes, the sable pupils having taken on a glowing sheen, reflecting the blood-red color of sheets. In that moment, he truly looked like a demon.   



	15. Plans set into motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are again. Next chapter. Thanks again to yseult for proofreading. On that note: You should try out her story 'Alone'. It is worth your time!
> 
> Thanks also to my reviewers, Yseult, Aii and Angeloi for taking the time to write such lengthy reviews. They are sooo appreciated. I had hope to get more feedback from 'other' readers as well.

_Last time: When he had finished, he looked down upon the woman in his arms. Conviction burned hot in his eyes, the sable pupils having taken on a glowing sheen, reflecting the blood-red color of sheets. In that moment, he truly looked like a demon._  
  
xoxoxo

The dark-veined marble clicked in a rhythmic staccato beneath her heels, sounding remarkably like the steady beat of metallic drums, as she hurriedly and purposefully strode along the corridor framed by floor to ceiling glass-walls, bypassed his ‘Executive Assistant’, who stood up with a raised finger, a protest on her ruby-red lips and following her to his office door, which Felicity pushed open energetically -- and then closed it right in the secretary’s face. Yeah… no! Not happening! She smiled sweetly at the woman, giving her a tiny finger-wave for her effort, before turning around.  
  
“Ray, I need a few days off.” She threw the words at the man sitting behind his desk, bowed over some document or other.   
  
The crown of yet-black her tilted back as Ray Palmer looked up from the contract he had been studying, revealing smooth, perfect features that could have been chiseled from stone, if not for the surprised consternation that was written across them at this moment. Laying down the pen he had been holding to sign the documents, he righted himself to fully look at his most important employee.

“Felicity?” The tone of his voice clearly asked her to explain this sudden demand.  
  
“It’s an emergency. Not me... of course. I’m fine. Since I am clearly standing here… I look fine, don’t I? Maybe I looked stressed… but I wonder how ‘not fine’ would look …” She would have rambled on, if Ray hadn’t interrupted her with a raised hand.  
  
“What kind of emergency?” He asked curiously, not in the least bit affected by her ramblings, being used to them by now. He would never say so, but he found them one of her most endearing _qualities_. And to be honest, if he became excited about something, he was prone to rambling himself. So he couldn’t fault her for that, really, he couldn’t.  
  
“It’s a family emergency.” She blurted out, her stress level rising.  
  
“God, is your mother okay?” Ray had stood up from his desk and crossed the room in two long strides to stand in front of Felicity, his lank, tall frame literally all but dwarfing her, despite her wearing a pair of her tallest heels. His hands found themselves on her shoulder, squeezing gently. He knew Felicity and her mother had just recently _connected_ again. It would be a tragedy, if something had happened to the lady.  
  
Felicity looked up at her not so new boss, seeing his honest concern and feeling her heart warmed by it. It made this so much harder. “No… I mean yes. Mom is fine… better then fine, really. She is back to being her usual old self… well I didn’t mean she is old as in _old_ old, since I am not old either. I just turned 24 and she got me at a young age… AND I will stop rambling in 3... 2… 1. Sorry about that. It’s my other family…” She trailed of, not really knowing what to explain and mentally kicked herself for not thinking this through.  
  
“Other family? I didn’t know you _had_ other family.” He really hadn’t known, her personal employee file didn’t mention any other relatives besides her mother. And her emergency contacts were Oliver Queen, his bodyguards John Diggle – he was curious how that had come about, but refrained from asking – and one Roy Harper, the latter he didn’t know.   
  
A nervous smile tickled her lips and she had to bite her inner cheek – _ouch_ – to stop it. “Of course I do! -- Have Family, I mean. Everybody does! You know, aunts and uncles, and cousins twice removed and such. -- Don’t you?”  
  
“Ah… yeah… yes, I do!” He stuttered his hasty reply. “So, what is this emergency, if I may ask, Miss Smoak?” Her last name was added teasingly, just for effect.  
  
“Uhm… I have this cousin in Canada. You see? We were really close while growing up, he would visit us all the time, me and mom. He has hurt himself badly while climbing in the Rockies. And since he has no close relatives either, they are all dead, I thought I should go and help him. He’s about to be released from the hospital and the stupid klutz needs someone to take care of him. Just until he is back on his feet.” Felicity congratulated herself for staying as close to the truth as possible and delivering it was a straight face. She was way better at making stuff up on the fly as her boys! Looking directly at Ray, she added: “And since I still have vacation time left…well… I know this is short notice. And I am sorry…” She stopped, exhaling a long held breath.  
  
Ray nodded thoughtfully, not looking particularly happy at this moment though, more like a dog who had been stolen his most precious toy, all sad and droopy eyes, but minus the floppy ears. “Do you know how long you will be gone for?” He asked, resignation tinging his voice.  
  
“Is this a yes? And, I… don’t know?!” She hesitated, drawing out the last syllables of the sentence, while simultaneously shrugging her shoulders.   
  
“Ah.” He said looking at her.    
  
“So?” She stared back at him, eyes squinted.  
  
“So?” He questioned back, uncomprehendingly. Seconds ticked by. Until he finally seemed to realize she expected and answer. “Oh you mean? Yes! Sorry. Yes, you may go! Of course! But Felicity…”  
  
“Yes, Ray?” Her large, green-ringed eyes looked up at him.  
  
His face became earnest, resettling into the facade of Ray Palmer, CEO of Palmer Industries, setting aside _friend_ to become _boss_ again. “Please let me know when you’ll be back as soon as you yourself know. Palmer Industries values his most precious employee. But I can only keep your position open for so long, if you _overextend_ your vacation days to _help_ _a friend_.”  
  
“Sure, I will. And thank you, Mr. Palmer.” Felicity was aware of the status-change, subtle as it had been, and reacted accordingly, becoming Felicity Meghan Smoak, employee of Palmer Industries. She swallowed thickly, trying to get rid of the big, fat knot that had materialized in her throat, not sure if she had been found out… or not. But Ray’s last words had sounded odd to her ears… as if he knew more than he was letting on.  
  
xoxoxo  
  
“Ugh…” An irritated groan escaped her pink painted lips, as Felicity threw herself in the front-seat of the dark-colored sedan parked in front of Queen Con… Palmer Industries, she was still getting used to the name change, and shook raindrops off her purse, which she had used to shield herself from the steady drizzle released from the storm-clouds above.   
  
“Did it work?” Roy looked for the entire world like an eager puppy, hopeful, expectant eyes turned on her. Dig’s look was a little bit more sedate, but still expectant.  
  
“Yes, I got time off…” She sighed, still trying to wipe of raindrops off her dress and not really looking at the boys. “… possibly indefinitely.”  
  
“What?” Both male inhabitants of the car asked in chorus.  
  
“Ray gave me time off, but he also told me, he could not keep my position open, and here I quote ‘ _if you overextend your vacation days to help a friend_.’” She stressed the words _overextend_ and _help a friend_ the same way he had done, which raised an eyebrow on Diggle’s face.  
  
“Do you think he knows or suspects something?” He asked worriedly.  
  
“I really don’t know, Dig.” Her hands reached up to knead a spot on her forehead. It always ached, when she felt stressed, today, it seemed, was no exception. It hurt something fierce, a sharp, centered pain, like an axe shipping away pieces of bone in her skull directly behind her brow. “With me coming and leaving at the most unusual hours sometimes, it is a possibility we have to consider.”  
  
Dig laid a hand on Felicity’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “It’s okay. Don’t worry, we’ll deal with it later, in case something happens.”  
  
Her hands sunk back into her lap, smoothing away invisible creases in her blue dress, and she smiled tentatively at the boys. “Did you pack your bags?”  
  
“Blondie! Who do you take us for? We are no slackers either. Of course we did!” Roy answered with a small, light grin. A full one he just couldn’t manage these days. None of them could.  
  
“Good, good.” Felicity muttered, while collecting her tablet from the glove compartment, where she had stashed it before entering the high rise. After a few swipes and clicks, she looked up. “Then let’s go to Canada. I booked us three business-class seats in the next American Airline flight leaving Starling City for Calgary. Courtesy of one Mr. Yatamoto and his two employees, whose flight tickets have just been cancelled… accidently… of course. Must have been a glitch in their servers.”  
  
Felicity glanced at Dig and Roy, shrugging her shoulders innocently. “Uhpps!”


	16. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Yseult for your doing such a great job as my Betareader, giving me tips on how to improve my style and enhance parts of my story. 
> 
> Thanks also for Yseult and Aii, my most faithful reviewers. I am so glad for having you around. You keep my spirits up. 
> 
> Thanks also for the kudos and bookmarks. But I love a comment even more!!!

_Last time: Felicity glanced at Dig and Roy, shrugging her shoulders innocently. “Uhpps!”_

xoxoxo

The world around him consisted of darkness and wavering shadows, they covered him like a heavy blanket. And he’d been tucked in so firmly that he couldn’t escape. His thoughts, the few he could manage, drifted somewhere where neither time nor matter seemed to exist, just sensations. _Cold_. He hated it, when the coldness returned; it crawled slowly through his veins, pricked at his skin with its icy needles and froze him to his very core. He liked the numbness better, just drifting thoughtless and weightless through the black void, were nothing existed, not even he himself. But what he feared most, was the return of the dark, formless specters that sometimes haunted his waking thoughts.  
  
A sudden explosion of pain registered with his brain, its epi-centers located on both sides of his jaw, from which pulsing, icy waves now shot into his body, slowly spreading from his neck downwards, mapping and outlining his body, thus giving back form to what prior had been a formless mass floating in the black void. _It hurt…_

The pleas for the pain to stop got stuck in his throat, as a wave of gooey mass rolled down his tongue, making him gag and cough violently until his body’s self-preservation instincts kicked in and made him swallow reflexively. With the foul brew gone, the pulsing pain on his jaw left as suddenly as it had appeared. And he was able to breathe again. _In. Out. In. Out…_

Slowly a new sensation took over his body, a sort of numbness, but it was different from the one he had felt before. This one wasn’t cold or detached, it felt more like a warm blanket enfolding his body and senses in a soft, tender embrace, creating an impenetrable barrier between him and the pain and the dark void beyond. It made him feel calm, something he hadn’t felt in… he couldn’t even remember anymore.  
  
He sighed, turned away from the darkness and into the soft folds of his new blanket, letting blessed, dreamless sleep claim him.

xoxoxo

Maseo gazed in wonder down at the small, empty vial in his hands, its contents now administered to the man laying beneath him in calm slumber. The contents, whatever they had been, seemed to have eased his torment, driven out the ghost that had haunted his waking and sleeping moments, to let him finally find the rest he so desperately needed to recover from the effects of the pit. A relieved sigh escaped Maseo’s lips, one he hadn’t been aware of holding.  
  
Closing his fist around the small bottle, he hid it back in the folds of his tunic. He was glad he had made the right decision in trusting Halari, giving Oliver the vial’s contents. It had been a gut instinct, but one he had learned to trust over the years, because it had seldom led him astray. Yes, he had been made to train Oliver by Waller, but nobody had made him give the boy the title of _‘friend_ ’. That had been his own decision, one he had never regretted. Trust your instincts - it had been Tatsu, who had taught him this lesson and it was his way of honoring her memory.  
  
After he had made the decision it had just been a matter of finding a way to do it without anybody finding out about it. So he had checked the guard roosters to see when the next rotation would take place. Turning up a few minutes before that, he had sent the guards on their way with the promise to watch Oliver until the next shift arrived. He had waited until they had turned the corner at the end of the torch-lit corridor, his gaze following their shadows until he couldn’t trace them anymore and their footsteps fell silent. Even then he still had waited, counting the beats of his racing pulse in his head - seconds ticked by in agonizing slowness - until he had finally felt confident enough to enter the cell. He had slid back the bolt with extreme care and pulled the old door open slowly to reduce the noise, before slipping in on silent feet.  
  
Because he had had to do this alone, it had been a matter of speed; grasping Oliver’s jaw, forcing it open and dumping the contents of the vial in his mouth. When the coughing and spluttering had started, he had clamped a hand across his friend’s mouth, so he wouldn’t spit the fluid out, only letting go, when had been sure that Oliver had swallowed it. He had let go then, as to not cause him further pain, an obvious conclusion, judging by Oliver’s reaction to touch. Within seconds the man seemed to relax, his breath slowly easing, until his head had finally lolled bonelessly to the side.

Now here Maseo stood, looking down in wonder at the man, finally daring to hope things would take a turn for the better. Whatever this _better_ would be, it surely couldn’t be worse than this. He shook himself from his musings, silently slipping out the cell, closing the door and resetting the bolt, just in time for the next set of guards to appear.

Xoxoxo

The flight had been an uneventful for the trio. Being on a commercial flight had its disadvantages, they couldn’t really _discuss_ strategy or make plans. Too many prying ears. So Roy had decided to, as he had so _eloquently_ put it, catch up on some seriously needed _hours of zzzs_ Between working at Verdant and his Arsenal duties, a job he felt wholly unprepared of doing alone without his mentor, the one thing he seriously lacked, was sleep. Felicity had downloaded the blueprints of Banff’s airport prior to leaving the Foundry the day before, hoping they would come in handy. So while Roy had slept the sleep of the young and righteous, Diggle and her had studied the blueprints and, communicating without words, had marked weak spots and possible points of entry he and Roy could use later this night. The real planning would have to be done later. When the plane had landed they had chartered a flight in a small Cessna, same as Nyssa had done, to get to their final destination, which they had reached as of 30 minutes ago.  
  
Night was fast approaching, as the sun descended behind the high, snow-covered summits of the Rocky Mountains, bathing the town beneath them in their lengthening shadows and turning the stone giants themselves into dark, looming sentinels. Felicity shivered, drew her winter-coat and scarf tighter around herself and the red woolly-hat deeper into her face, because with the rising darkness the temperature, which had been already freezing, dropped another few notches. If she could, she would have drawn in her neck like a turtle. Sadly, nature hadn’t equipped her with that ability and so she was left to stand shivering and with shattering teeth in this parking-lot. At least the look was quite similar, with her peering out in the small slit left between the thick, knitted scarf and her hat.  
  
“I’ve got the keycards,” Diggle announced, returning from the manager’s office of the small roadside motel they had chosen as their temporary base of operation. It wasn’t too far removed from the airport, the main reason why they had chosen it. Because, to be realistic, scrambling in a red leather-suit or, in Dig’s case face hidden with a balaclava, through a small town like Banff or through Starling, with its high-rises, large blocks, dark streets and alleys, which one could hide or disappear in,… there was a a huge difference. Keeping their anonymity here would prove a lot more difficult. Lots of open spaces, good lighting… So they had to minimize the risks.  
  
“Good,” I will set up my systems in my room. You boys come over when you have finished unpacking your stuff _._ I don’t mean _your_ stuff. You know… as in the things you wear... pants and shirts and socks and underwear … I meant the other _stuff”_ She stressed the last word, letting them know what she was talking about. In particular Roy’s Arsenal-suit, which had been disassembled and stowed in their three, separate suit-cases, in case they got asked to open them on their way through customs. Roy’s weapons, sadly, had to be left at home. There had been no possible way to get them on the plane or through customs. He would have to make do with what they found here. Diggle on the other hand had been able to acquire a 9”Clock from and old army-buddy living in Calgary.  
  
“Okay, Boss! Will do.” It was meant as tease by Roy, but deep down he had long since accepted the fact that she was the secret mastermind behind their operation. Not Roy, not Diggle, not even Oliver, the Arrow, himself. No, it was Felicity who drew the strings, guiding them through their tasks by her moral compass and with her technical genius. Taking his and Dig’s suit-case he took them their shared room.

Dig stayed behind, looking down at the tiny woman in front of him, who had exchanged the high heels she was so fond of wearing for a more sensible pair of moonboots, and thus had lost several inches. And the dress had been replaced by a jeans and her thick winter-parker, it just hadn’t been suitable attire for this climate  
  
He gave her a reassuring smile. “We are one step closer to finding him.”  
  
“Yes, we are John. And we will bring him home.”  
  



	17. Amber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to returning to work and some really, really bad trouble in my reallife, I didn't get to write as much as I would have liked. Stress literally killed my muse and all joy I used to experience while writing. So I found it extremely hard to write this chapter. I hope you enjoy reading more than I did writing it. I would be happy for any comments, even short ones!
> 
> Thanks again for Yseult for proofreading and giving me tipps.
> 
> PS: Oliver will return pretty soon! I promise!

_Last time: Dig stayed behind, looking down at the tiny woman in front of him, who had exchanged the high heels she was so fond of wearing for a more sensible pair of moonboots, and thus had lost several inches. And the dress had been replaced by a jeans and her thick winter-parker, it just hadn’t been suitable attire for this climate_  
  
 _He gave her a reassuring smile. “We are one step closer to finding him.”_  
  
 _“Yes, we are John. And we will bring him home.”_  
  
xoxoxo

The single, flickering flame of a candle-stump placed on a narrow shelf illuminated the small stone-chamber and the work-place directly beneath it, a cluttered table, holding knives, carafes, spoons, vials, pots and many other small things.  

With slow, almost hypnotic motions a small pestle dove into a mortar, grinding its contents to an earthy-brown paste. A delicate hand reached for a piece of root, adding it to the mix and the grinding continued, ceaselessly. The steady motion broke up the root until it too had dissolved into the mix.  
  
Then the hand took hold of a delicate carafe and poured a small measure of golden liquid onto the paste in the mortar’s belly in which the grinding and stirring continued. Adding some more oil, until the golden-brownish, viscous mass had the desired fluidity, the contents of the mortar were poured onto a small, rectangular piece of cloth. Two hands carefully lifted the edges, before twisting them together and slowly wringing downwards, pressing the liquid through the cloth’s pores - amber-golden drops fell into the small vial placed beneath the cloth.  
  
When she was done, Halari laid the used cloth aside and carefully pressed a small stopper into the vial’s opening, capturing its precious content, the essence of the kava-kava-root, so it wouldn’t accidently spill. Then all her work would have been for naught. And she didn’t know if she could obtain another piece of the rare root from the merchants without drawing attention to herself. Few knew of the plant or its sedative, even anesthetic effects, it was mostly used by their healers, not common folk. Since she was not a healer, but a servant, albeit a well-respected one, it could lead to questions she’d rather not have to answer. She couldn’t risk it. Palming the small glass-vial, she hid it in one of the many folds in her gown, cleared away all remaining evidence of her work, before leaving the relative security of her small chamber. She had one final thing to do…

xoxoxo

Sarab dipped his scraped hands into the well, relishing the soothing coolness of the water which came down from the mountain and fed this man-built-spring. Scooping up two hands full of the water, he threw them on his face and bare chest, rinsing away the sweat, grime and blood from the cuts and scrapes he had accumulated during the training in the arena. The cold water soothed their sting and soon what irrelevant pain there was would fade and be forgotten. Pain held no meaning in the Demon’s realm. _It was just another currency…_

He padded away the remaining droplets of water with his tunic, before drawing the black garment over his head, followed by a long, studded leather-vest and finally his sword-belt, girted across his middle, holding his precious katana. It had once belonged to Tatsu, he had given it to her on the day of Aiko’s birth, a gift to symbolize the strength he saw in her for nurturing and giving birth to this new, precious live. And it was one of the very few belongings he had been allowed to bring when he had joined Rhas al Ghul’s ranks, after... he refused to follow that thought, not wanting to relive the memory. Joining the League required you to leave your old life behind, your belongings, your memories, even your name. But not Tatsu’s sword, he had held onto that, had made it part of his new self – Sarab – Member of the League of the Assissins.  
  
Suddenly Sarab had a sense of being watched. He didn’t look up, instead he let his eyes stray from beneath lowered lids, while straightening the vest which had ridden up when he buckled his sword belt, scanning his surroundings with senses sharpened to razor focus. His gaze swept across the men fighting in the arena behind him. It sat on the side of the Demon’s palace beneath a large balcony, Ra’s al Ghul used to observe his assassin’s training. He took in the sweaty, heaving chest, the grunts, the dull clang of swords, yet there was not sound or visual, other than that of his fellow soldiers training, coming to or walking off the training ground. Still, he felt eyes on him.

Giving a last nod to the man standing beside him, he walked away, following a path that would lead him off the palace grounds, back to his place. A single room in a tiny row of houses on the outskirts of the city, holding a bed, a small table and with a fireplace to call his own. But it was his. He walked through the crowded streets, stepping aside now and then to let busy merchants pass with their overloaded carts, before finally turning into an alley between two rows of houses. It was so narrow that one could’ve easily missed it, if one didn’t know to look for it.  
  
Another three steps and he had reached a small archway with an old, wooden door… his door. As he was about to push it open, he noticed a tiny bundle of cloth sitting on the tread plate, so small and of earthen color, he had almost overlooked it. What…? With a sideways glance to the mouth of the alley he assured himself, nobody was looking this way, before he bent down to carefully push aside a fold of cloth. Eyes widening in shock, he immediately threw it closed, swept up the bundle and hastily entered his home, hoping that nobody had seen him.  
  
He took a deep breath to calm his wildly beating heart, only then did he feel comfortable enough to open the parcel. Setting it down on his table, he peeled back the layers of cloth and revealed a small vial sitting in the midst of the bundle… in it an amber liquid. There was no question in his mind, where it had come from or what he should do with it. He knew.  
  
Closing the folds carefully, he took the cloth and slid it into the farthest and darkest corner beneath his bed, while in his mind already planning ahead. Like last time, he would have to choose his next steps carefully...


	18. Thieves in the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a longer chapter. My muse is partly back, though trouble in reallife continues. 
> 
> Thanks for wordscreatereality, Aii, Elena+Allon and Smee1 for leaving such wonderful comments on my story. Thank you, its very much appreciated.
> 
> A big hug also to Yseult for doing such a great job and keeping my on my toes story-wise.

_Last time: Closing the folds carefully, he took the cloth and slid it into the farthest and darkest corner beneath his bed, while in his mind already planning ahead. Like last time, he would have to choose his next steps carefully..._

xoxoxo

As night had fallen over the small city of Banff, Alberta, a sense of calm had taken over the streets, shops had closed, parking lots emptied and most people had gone home to their loved ones. Every once in a while a single car would drive down the main-road, breaking the stillness with the dull rattle of its exhaust. It was, as if the city itself had fallen asleep. But appearance could be deceiving. At least three people weren’t safely slumbering in their beds.

“Stop!” Felicity’s command crackled through the com-link in his ear, making Roy freeze instantly. He didn’t ask why. If Felicity told you to do something, you just did it. He had learned to trust her - instinct was the wrong word, that had been Oliver’s forte, he had lived and breathed instinct like it had been his second nature; it probably was – but she was the all-knowing, all-seeing eye in the sky. Felicity guided their steps on their missions, and so far she had never led them... led him wrong.  
  
Retracting his foot, he squatted down to minimize his height, leaning his back into the, coincidently, _red_ dumpster at his back. Cold instantly seeped through the thin, skin-tight leather of his jacket, which really wasn’t made for this climate, making him shiver. He ignored it and threw a glance at Diggle, who had mimicked his pose, crouching next to him. They had left Felicity back at the hotel, when they had gone to the airstrip at midnight, wanting to operate under the cover of darkness, when most other people where safely slumbering in their beds.

Pressing on the com-link in his suit, he spoke in a whisper. “What is it?”  
  
When she spoke, both men heard her tense voice. “There is a guard patrolling this section of the fence as we speak. But that’s not the problem. He has a dog. The guard you don’t have to worry about. But the dog can sense you a mile-off. Probably already has. The only reason it hasn’t sounded the alarm, is, because it doesn’t perceive you as intruders yet. You’re not on its territory.”

“Damn!” Dig cursed under his breath. These hillbillies had guard dogs? Really? He looked a Roy. “Do you have your tranquilizer darts.”

Roy rolled his eyes, before hissing exasperatedly. “And how do you suggest, I should have done that? Us flying and having to go through customs and all?”  
  
John raised his hands to placate the young archer. “Okay. Okay. I get it. You’re right.” He whispered, exhaling a frustrated puff of breath, which instantly froze in the chilly night air. Hovering like a cloud of doom, before it slowly dissipated, only to be replaced by another seconds later.

All three, Dig and Roy on their side of the com-link and Felicity on the other, sunk into contemplative silence, trying to come up with a new plan of action. It was Dig who finally did. He’d been staring down at his feet, when a brown beer bottle rolled out from under the dumpster, only stopping, when it made contact with his right foot. He nudged it slightly with the toe of his boot. It rolled back a little, before returning. He did it again, his mind slowly but surely formulating a plan. During his time in the military, if they couldn’t enter from the front or they didn’t want to engage in direct combat, his platoon had usually used diversion tactics. They bore their own risks, of course, but they had been successful... mostly. His fingers kneaded a spot on his thigh, the knotted scar tissue of a bullet wound aching in remembrance of one mission that hadn’t been quite so successful.  
  
“One of us has to distract the dog.” It was as simple as that, really, or as hard. Depended on which angle you looked at it. But they had to distract the dog in such a way, that all its senses were focused on one of them, so the other could slip unnoticed over the fence and enter the building.  
  
“Okay, I am going to do it.” Offered Roy instantly, already standing from his crouch, but Diggle put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him down again and shook his head.  
  
“No, not you. In your getup you’re too noticeable.” While saying that, he picked up disregarded beer-bottle at his feet and pulled off his balaclava. “I, on the other hand, am not. I can pull of being a drunken tourist, having ended up in the wrong part of the town. Not having found my way home.”  
  
Roy nodded. Dig’s plan was sound and he was right.  
  
“Be careful, boys!” Felicity whispered in their ears, both heard the unspoken _my_ in the tone of her voice.  
  
“We will, blondie.” Roy assured teasingly, knowing how much Felicity hated that nick-name… or pretended to hate it.  
  
With a last nod to Roy, Diggle went on his way, taking the empty bottle of beer with him. After all, what was an actor without his props? Roy stayed behind the dumpster, hearing Diggle’s strained breathing in his ear, as he jogged half a block over to near Banff’s airport from the other side. It took several tense minutes of waiting, but then he finally heard Dig whispering. “I see him. He’s nearing my position. Are you ready? Felicity? Roy?”  
  
When both his team-mates had answered in the affirmative, he started his acting. Roy listened for half a minute, hearing Dig’s slurred words, asking the guard where he was and how he had come to be there? The man seemed annoyed and told him, he should leave and find his own way back. Diggle, knowing he had to keep the man’s and dog’s focus on himself, started telling the guard a fictional sob story about his unfair life and how his wife had left him. Roy almost cracked up and had to bite his lip, to keep from laughing at Dig’s performance. He was really good at it, maybe he should change careers? He could hear the dog growling and barking at his friend through Dig’s open com-link and decided now was the time.  
  
“It’s a go!” He hissed into is com-link, to led Diggle and Felicity know, that he was going in now.  
  
Sprinting towards the wire-fence in a crouch, he used the momentum to catapult himself two-thirds of the way up, climbing the rest of the way and dropping down on the other side. From there he had to do another short sprint to reach the nearest building, which luckily also was the one housing the airports surveillance equipment.  
  
He pressed his back next to the door, sweeping the area with his eyes, to make sure nobody he had seen him. When he was sure it was safe, he turned towards the door. There was a keypad with a slot for a keycard. But they already had known that and he came prepared.  
  
“I found the keypad, Felicity.” He told their tech-genius in a low voice, so as not to attract attention from the people that might be inside.  
  
“Good.” She answered calmly, this was her thing, she knew what to do. “Take the keycard and transponder I gave you and swipe it through the slot, hold it there. Then give me a few seconds to decrypt the keypad.”  
  
Roy nodded, but then remembered she couldn’t see him. “Okay.” He did as he was told. Pulling the keycard and small transponder from a pocket in his suit, he swiped the card through the slot, and waited. Suddenly there was a beep, then another, and the red light on the keypad faded out, turning to green.  
  
“That was too easy. They really should update their system.” Felicity mumbled, before adding “Door should be open, Roy.”  
  
Roy griped the handle, giving it a small, careful _tug_ to test it, and it sprung open immediately on silent hinges. Thank god for small blessings, Roy thought. A narrow strip of warm, yellow light showed between the door and its frame. Roy held his breath, hoping that he hadn’t been noticed and peered inside while straining to listen for people talking or other strange noises. Not hearing anything, he pulled the door open, slipped inside and silently closed it.  
  
“Arsenal is in. Nobody’s here.” He let his co-conspirators know and could hear Felicity’s quiet breathing in his ear through the opened com-link, and Digg was still in the process of telling the guard and his growling dog about his wife had dumped him and so one. Roy slunk along the corridor, passing closed doors with darkened windows to get to the security office at the end of the building where the blue prints had shown them to be.  
  
When he saw the door he was looking for, he sprinted the last several feet in a crouch, kneeling next to it. It was the only one, where light shone from the inside through the small window. And he could hear a single voice talking to somebody else. Since nobody was answering, Roy could only assume that the person inside, a man, was talking to somebody on the phone.  
  
“Yes, honey. I will stop by the store first thing in the morning and get it.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“No… don’t worry, I won’t forget it. I promise.”  
  
Again silence.

“I know… I know… don’t be a mad at me.”  
  
While the security officer had been talking to his wife, or so Roy assumed, he had slipped inside unnoticed by the distracted man, who had been striding up and down a phalanx of monitors and computers.  
  
Now, he stood still, staring down at one of the monitors, as if he had seen something and mumbled a distracted answer into his phone. “No… no, I won’t forget it again. I promise. I love you. Bye”, before hanging up.  
  
As he was about to sit down in his chair, Roy sneaked up to him and wound an arm around the man’s windpipe, the other pressing down hard on the back of the man’s neck. A chokehold Oliver had taught him. It happened so fast, the man didn’t even have time to react. His eyes widened comically for a second or two, as if trying to understand what was happening, but he his eyes slipped closed only moments later and his body went slack in Roy’s arms. The young archer lowered him gently the rest of the way into his chair, knowing the man hadn’t done anything to deserve this treatment, other, than unfortunately being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Blondie, I’m in the security office. What do you want me to do?” He whispered.  
  
Felicity thought for a moment, before answering. “Look around, tell me what you see. Describe their setup to me.”  
  
Doing as Felicity told him, he swept his eyes across the room, describing it as he went. “There is a phalanx of monitors, showing the airstrip and the hangar, one shows Dig and the guard. There are some computers and some kind of setup for DVD-recording, I think.” His gaze wandered further and he found a rack holding at least a hundred DVD covers, sorted by time-stamp. He told Felicity what he saw.

“Oh my god, I think I’m experiencing a heart-attack right now. These barbarians live in the equivalent of the middle-ages when it comes to computers. They store their video-footage on DVDs? Really? No wonder they’re offline and there was nothing for me to hack.” She ranted in her loud voice.  
  
“Felicity!” Roy hissed.  
  
She calmed down instantly. “Okay. Okay. I am going to stop ranting in three, two, one. Done! Roy, you have to find the DVDs around the time Nyssa left Starling and several days after… a week maybe?“ Felicity suggested. “And oh… don’t forget to take out the current DVD out of the recorder, you don’t want yourself or Dig be caught on camera!”  
  
Letting his fingers slide over the backs of the DVD covers, he finally located the ones that Felicity wanted. “Go them!” He cheered quietly, before moving back towards the computers and collecting the current recording. For some reason, though he hadn’t been told to do so, he also chose to take the binder that held the flight manifests. Giving a last glance at the monitors, seeing Dig retreat as well, he slipped out.  
  
xoxoxo  
  
Half an hour later they were all reunited in Felicity’s motel room, while Felicity was going through the video footage on the DVDs Roy had brought her. The young man had changed back into regular clothes and now stood behind her, same as Dig, gazing down at the monitor of Felicity’s notebook.  
  
Felicity was fast-forwarding the footage, until Diggle suddenly called “Stop!” He pointed a finger at the monitor. “Go back… yes there! It’s her, Nyssa. And that man.” Diggle couldn’t remember the name, though he was sure Felicity had mentioned it.  
  
Indeed, the video - now playing at a regular tempo - showed Nyssa and another man stepping out of a Cessna. Her face was half-hidden by a black cowl, but you couldn’t mistake her. They eyes, the olive skin, jet-black her and the regal posture. It was Nyssa all-right. And she looked as if she didn’t have a care in to world, eyes cold, features calm, collected, calculating. The video showed her speaking to the other man, before both walked off the camera. After that Felicity couldn’t trace their steps, because the airport’s cameras only covered parts of the air-strip and the hangars. Felicity cursed, frustration gnawing at her like a rapid dog on a bone, making her grit her teeth.  
  
Diggle laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed ever so gently, it had become a habit of theirs, and she instantly calmed down, returning her focus to the camera footage. When it ended, she exchanged it for another DVD… and then another. Together with Roy and Dig she watched the coming and goings on Banff’s airport, and if it hadn’t been for her fourth cup of coffee, Roy kept plying her with, she might have fallen asleep. They were already sifting through their third day of video footage, the day after the duel.  
  
So far, there was only that one sighting of Nyssa and her underling. Secretly she had hoped Oliver had chosen the same route and she would see him caught on camera, but she should have known that he would stay under the radar so she couldn’t track him.  
  
Dig had migrated to the table, intently studying a map of Banff and its surrounding area, analyzing its topographical layout with a critical eye. A second possible angle, he had told them, maybe he could find out, where the duel had taken place. Or find their base of operations in this area. He was sure they had one here… at least some kind of outpost.  
  
He heard the low mumble of Felicity and Roy talking about recognizing the man that had come here with Nyssa al Ghul. But he was in no way prepared for the loud smash of a coffee-mug splintering into pieces of their motel room’s garishly checkered linoleum floor. Nor the startled gasp, that came from Felicity’s lips.  
  
He sprang up so fast, his chair toppled over backwards. “What is it?”  
  
Felicity looked at him with wide eyes. Then back at the monitor. A hand covering her mouth in a silent gesture or shock.  
  
Dig, looked at Roy, wanting an answer, but saw the same shocked expression on the younger man’s face. He was white as a sheet, looked as if he had seen a ghost.  
  
“What?” He moved to stand beside Roy and looked down at the monitor. And what he saw there in the paused video, it literally froze the blood in his veins. He was staring at tall, dark-haired man who was wearing a black, ornate mantle. But what was more important was what was next to him. Four men carrying a stretcher with a man on it, covered up to his chin in blankets or fur. But there was no mistaking him!  
  
Felicity looked up at Diggle. “John… it’s Oliver. He’s alive!” She whispered with tears in her eyes.

This changed everything! Their quest was no longer to find the League’s outpost or their sacred duel ground to find and bring _home_ a _body_. No, they had to find Oliver and bring _him_ home, wherever Ra’s had taken him.


	19. The Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Lexi and Wordscreatereality for leaving those lovely reviews on my story. I can only keep repeating myself, telling you that they are very much appreciated. As a fanfiction-reader myself, I try to leave a comment on every story I read and like, but at least on those which I added to my bookmarks or subscribed to. So I know how confusing it can get to keep track on which story one has already reviewed. I would love to hear from you again, as well as from OTHER readers.
> 
> And I can't keep stressing enough, how grateful I am to my beta Yseult for doing such a wonderful job. I probably do make many mistakes, too many to find them all, so any typos and erros left in this story are MINE. Feel free to point them out to me and I will fix them.
> 
> Constructive criticism is also appreciated.

_Last chapter: Felicity looked up at Diggle. “John… it’s Oliver. He’s alive!” She whispered with tears in her eyes._

_This changed everything! Their quest was no longer to find the League’s outpost or their sacred duel ground to find and bring home a body. No, they had to find Oliver and bring him home, wherever Ra’s had taken him._  
  
xoxoxo  
  
The dark walls of the cell were only illuminated by the torches burning outside in the hallway, casting their flickering light through the bars of the small window set in the door and painting their dancing shadows on the opposite wall.

Maseo stood above the slumbering form of his friend, the empty vial loosely fisted in his right hand. He studied the man’s relaxed features; the deep frown lines on his brow had disappeared, the tense set of his lips smoothed away, the tremors shaking his frame vanished. His breaths were slow and even in his sleep. He seemed… at peace. For that Maseo was glad. He didn’t care anymore, what Halari had put into the vial, or how she had obtained it. It helped. Calmed down the raging thoughts and fears in Oliver’s mind. And that was all he cared about.

The approach of footsteps, their echo still distant, pulled Maseo from his thoughts. He tensed for a moment, caught unawares, but then his sharp mind calculated he still had time until the guards would reach this sector of the tunnel. He hid the vial back under his tunic, before turning away from the man curled on the mattress and left the cell. With a low scraping sound, he swung the door closed and slid the bolt home, then stood next to it, waiting for the new set of guards to appear.

It didn’t take long for them to round the corner. He saw them falter in their steps for the slightest of moments, when they saw him, wondering, if they had done something wrong to warrant their superior’s attention, then walked on as if nothing happened. As they approached, they nodded their heads in respectful greeting, a fisted hand across their chests, as was their custom, before one murmured lowly in Arabic. “ _Is something wrong, Master Sarab?_ ”

Maseo shook his head. _“No, nothing is wrong. I came to check on this man’s condition, to report any changes back to our Master.”_ He replied in the same language, now flowing, if not fluently but somewhat easily, from his lips. It had taken him a while to master this foreign tongue. And what he said wasn’t even a lie. He would have to report back any changes to Ra’s al Ghul, whether he liked to or not. Acting on his own authority to help his friend was one thing, but lying to The Demon, even by omission, he dared not. Ra’s had a gift. He was like a venomous snake, a serpent. And just as the snake could smell the fear of the prey it hunted that man had the ability to sense if someone was lying to him. Few had dared and even fewer lived to tell the tale. He wouldn’t take that chance.  
The guards nodded, their minds set at ease. So Maseo turned his back on them, about to leave. As he was passing the cell, he cast one last glance through the barred window – and stopped dead in his tracks. Oliver lay facing the door, his eyes open. But that wasn’t what made Maseo hesitate and turn back, because Oliver had done so before. It was the wide awake lucidity of his stare. Maseo grabbed onto the bars of the window with his right hand, fingers curling and uncurling reflexively around the round metal, as he waited with bated breath for a reaction. Oliver’s eyes were wandering about his cell, taking in the world around him, as one seeing it for the first time, until they finally found Maseo. He blinked. But there was no recognition there, only innocent curiosity…

xoxoxo  
  
The silver blade arched through the air in a set of intricate moves, smoothly gliding from one into the other. Always followed by its silent shadow on the wall. It performed its deadly dance at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul, stabbing and slicing invisible enemies as it became one with the man who wielded it – an extension of the man’s body and will. Again and again this dance was repeated like a well-practiced routine, until the blade suddenly stopped midair, mere inches separating it from the soft flesh of a man’s neck.  
  
Ra’s al Ghul coolly gazed upon the man standing in front him, silently applauding Sarab for not flinching as the blade had arched towards his neck, nor as it hovered dangerously near his jugular. It would take just a flick of the wrist to open a vein, ending the man’s live. Yet the soldier seemed unfazed, gaze set respectfully somewhere above Ra’s al Ghul’s shoulder, fixating a point on the far wall and waiting for permission to speak.

The Demon studied the man standing in front him, letting his silence settle on Sarab’s shoulders like a heavy, dark blanket, making him wait for his master’s permission to speak, thus re-enforcing his power over the assassin, because he was the only one who could lift the blanket

When he found enough time had passed, Ra’s al Ghul sheathed his sword with an easy grace born of years of practice, turned his back to the man and walked away. It wasn’t an act of trust, because The Demon trusted no one, but he knew nobody would dare to attack him here and even if one would be foolhardy enough to try, the guards at the door would apprehend the person. If they got the chance…  
  
His steps took Ra’s to a stone bench at the side of the large room, where he lifted a white linen towel from the mass of cloth lying there, patting drops of sweat from his torso and arms, before carelessly dropping the towel onto the floor. In the same moment a shadow appeared from a dark alcove set into the stone wall, stepping into the sun-lit chamber. Halari. Her light feet carried her soundlessly towards her master, where she lifted his dark, ornate brocade mantle from the stone bench and helped him slide into it, smoothing the fabric down his shoulders and arms. Then she stepped back, respectfully lowering her head to look at the floor and folding her hands in front of her, waiting on further orders.  
  
Ra’s ignored the woman, like one would ignore a fly on the wall, too inconsequential to be noticed. Instead he turned back to Sarab. His sable eyes glittered with a dark mirth, as he spoke. “I find that you interrupt me at the most inopportune of times, Sarab.”  
  
There was no answer. He hadn’t expected one, as he hadn’t allowed Sarab to speak yet or asked him a direct question.  
  
“What is it this time, Sarab?”  
  
At the question the man’s gaze turned away from the far wall to focus on him. With a slight of bow of the head, Sarab began to speak. “Master, you asked me to report any changes of my charge to you. I am here to inform you that Oliver Queen has finally woken.”  
  
Ra’s al Ghul squinted his eyes. “He’s lucid?” He asked for clarification.  
  
Sarab nodded. “Yes.” As he said those words, a barely perceptible smile crossed Halari’s lips. It was gone as soon as he had seen it, no more than a blink of the eye, making him wonder if he had only imagined it. He re-focused his attention on Ra’s al Ghul, not wanting to draw attention to himself or the woman behind Ra’s.  
  
“What do you want me to do, master?” He asked.  
  
The Demon seemed to contemplate his choices for a few seconds, before answering. “Nothing, I want to see him for myself.”  
  
With those words, he strode towards the large double winged-doors, which swung open on silent hinges by the hands of the guards.

xoxoxo

He fingered some loose strands on the thin, threadbare mattress he was lying on, letting them glide through his fingers in a repetitive motion, an unconscious action to calm himself, while curiously gazing around the room he found himself in.  
  
He had woken some time ago to a strange world, dark and cold and surrounded by stone. The only light coming through a small, barred window in a wooden door, which had made him realize he was in a cell. That had been his first conscious thought. The second had been even more distressing, because he’d realized he didn’t know where he was and how he had come to be there. He tried his hardest to remember, but where should have been his memories, there was just a blank space in his mind. A slate whipped clean. A void.  
  
Panic had seized him, as he couldn’t remember his own name. His heart had begun to beat faster and faster with every passing second, threatening to explode out of his chest, as his anxiety mounted. He had felt overwhelmed, a dark wave of despair sweeping over him. Drowning him. But just as everything had threatened to become too much, he’d felt the return of the soft, warm blanket, he had come to associate with safety. It had draped itself over his hyperactive senses and raging thoughts, dulling them. In his mind he had known, he should feel anxious, yet he’d felt removed from those feelings, like they weren’t his own and he was just an observer.  
  
Feeling calm again, he had let his eyes roam again, taking in the dirty floor, the musty walls, until they finally came to rest on the door. A man had stood on the other side of the bars, intently studying him, as if waiting for a certain reaction. He had wanted to speak, wanted to ask the man where he was, how he had come to be here… and … did he know who he was? But the words wouldn’t come, his mind suddenly blank. So he had just looked at the man.

He didn’t know how long they had looked at each other. It could have been seconds or even minutes, his sense of time was off, but at some point the man had turned away from him, obviously fed up by his non-reaction, speaking to someone else in a language he did not understand. He had wanted to call to the man, begging him to come back, but before could muster the strength to try, the man had been gone. Leaving him alone in his dark world.  
  
And so he waited. For what he did not know. For his memories to return? For somebody to come and help him? Or tell him where he was? Who he was?  
  
The cell door banged open, hitting the stone wall behind it, making him flinch at the loud noise and sudden increase in brightness. He threw an arm over his face, shielding his sensitive eyes from the light. When he finally dared lowering his arm, he saw the tall, dark figure of man standing inside the doorway. He blinked, trying to bring him into focus, but the light streaming into the cell around him, made it impossible to see more than his looming shadow.  
  
When the man stepped into the cell, he could finally make out more of his features. A middle-aged man, with dark hair and the hint of a dark beard gracing his weathered face. Dark, sable eyes sat in the hollows beneath his forehead, gleaming with a strange light. And he was tall. Broad-shouldered. A dark, floor-length mantle sat on his shoulders, making him appear even taller and broader. A sword was girded around his middle, resting at his left hip, swaying menacingly as he approached on silent feet.  
  
He cowered back on the mattress, suddenly afraid.  
  
As if sensing that his presence had spooked the man on the mattress, Ra’s al Ghul lowered himself into a crouch to appear less threatening. With his arms resting loosely crossed on his right knee, he curiously studied the young man, looking for any sign of recognition. And found none. A satisfied smile crossed his lips.  
  
“Do you know who I am, boy?” He asked, voice gravelly.  
  
There was a slight hesitation, lips parted as if to speak, but then the boy chose to simply shake his head no. Ra’s nodded understandingly, silently contemplating his next question for a few seconds.  
  
“Do you know where you are?” Again a shake of the head.

So Ra’ finally asked the most important question. “Do you know who you are?”  
  
The boy’s eyes widened at the question, darting about the room as if looking for an answer that just wasn’t there, before finally returning to the man before him. His breath had quickened in agitation and it took him a few seconds to calm down enough to reply. He stuttered, his tongue tripping over the word as if it had unlearned how to speak. “N… No.”  
  
His gaze suddenly turned hopeful. “D… Do you … you know who I am?”  
  
Ra’s smiled. “Yes.” He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. “Yes, I do. Don’t worry, _son_. I will teach you everything you need to know.”


	20. Who am I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually the chapter had been quite a bit (a lot) longer, but I had to divide it into several pieces, because I need to revise parts of it due to suggestions made by my beta Yseult about the storyline or rather my way of telling the story, rightfully so, I might add! I just didn't see it before!
> 
> But because I don't want to leave you waiting any longer, I posted the first part of the chapter, which I think is okay as it is.

_Last time: His gaze suddenly turned hopeful. “D… Do you … you know who I am?”_   
  
_Ra’s smiled. “Yes.” He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. “Yes, I do. Don’t worry, son. I will teach you everything you need to know.”_

xoxoxo

It had been two days since the strange man had taken him from his cell and brought him to this room. It was so different from that dark, cold place he had woken up in. Light was streaming through a large window and a brazier in the corner glowed softly, spreading some warmth into the room.  
  
Slowly he stood up from where he had been sitting on the side of his bed, a huge and intricate piece of craftsmanship made from dark wood, its tall bedposts rose like pillars from the ground while holding aloft a blood red canopy. Its sheer size dominating the room. Sighing, he dug his toes into the lavish, white rug beneath his feet, enjoying the feeling, until …  
  
He put one hand on a bedpost to steady himself, when he suddenly felt blood rush from his head into his legs, leaving behind an odd sensation of pins and needles in his limbs, turning them into blocks of ice. He broke out in a cold sweat. Nauseous, he sank back down onto the side of the bed.  
  
Not a very good first attempt at standing. He felt weak, and hated it. Since being here, he had done barely more than sleeping, his body depleted of all resources by lack of nourishment and what it had been through. He traced the faint pink scar beneath his right pectoral.  
  
A noise from the doorway made him look up in time to see a woman enter with a tray in her hands. He recognized her as the one who had tended to him these last two days - her name was Halari, he remembered - and smiled shyly.  
  
When she looked up and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, Halari returned the smile. “Good, you sit up. You get strength back, Qadir”, she said in broken, heavily accented English, placing the tray she had brought, on the bedside table and filling a cup with tea from a carafe.

That name still felt foreign to him, like everything else in this place. But that, he had been told by Ra’s, was his name. He rolled it around on his tongue, sounding out the letters individually, but something just didn’t feel right ...

A soft touch on his shoulder roused Qadir from his musings and he looked up. Halari stood before him, a soft smile on her lips. “Come,” she insisted, her eyes meaningfully shifting from his face to the tray, “eat. Drink. You get stronger. You weak. Slept long.”  
  
Oliver nodded, showing her that he understood. “Thank you Halari.”  
  
Her smile intensified momentarily, before she demurely lowered her head and left as silently as she had come. Like a ghost, Qadir thought. Her long, white flowing gown only adding to that appearance.  
  
Glancing at the tray, he swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. His stomach was tying itself in knots, revolted at the mere thought of food, but he knew he had to eat, if he wanted to get his strength back. Taking a bland piece of bread, he hesitantly nibbled on it for a while. When his stomach didn’t turn, he sighed in relief. A slice of orange was next, but it made him queasy, so he put it back and sipped on the tea until the feeling went away, and went back to nibbling on the bread.  
  
While he absentmindedly chewed on the slice in his hand, eyes drifting around the room, his thoughts turned back to the man he had met in the cell. He had been an imposing figure, even kneeling down, his coal black eyes burning with a fire from within, his stare so intense, it was almost scary. But there was also hiding a vast pool of wisdom behind those knowing eyes.  
  
He had pointed to himself, calling himself Ra’s al Ghul, before extending a hand to him, saying the word Qadir. He hadn’t known what that meant, but it sounded like a name. His name maybe? At the questioning, hopeful look in his eyes, Ra’s had smiled and nodded. “Yes, that is your name.”  
  
With a swish of his dark robes he had stood, his hand still extended towards Qadir, palm open and in an inviting gesture. “Come, I will tell you more. But it is time for you to leave this place.”  
  
There had been no strength left in his limbs. He barely had the strength to sit up and so, when he had tried to stand, hadn’t made it any further than his knees, before the world around him had started to blur, blacks and greys and browns, mixing together in a dizzying swirl, rapidly spiraling downwards into a black void. He didn’t remember much after that, just voices and a sense of being moved, he thought. Then nothing…  
  
When he had finally regained his senses, he had found himself in this room, lying in this bed. Heavy lids fluttering open hesitantly, before the first sting of bright light had him blinking rapidly, in an attempt to lessen the pain. He had felt weak, still did, and disoriented. But one constant had remained, the man, who had introduced himself as Ra’s al Ghul, had been sitting at his bedside.

_He wanted to speak, but his lips were dry and chapped, sticking together like glue on paper and would barely part. He wet them with his tongue. His second attempt was more successful. Addressing the man, he asked weakly: “Where am I?”_   
  
_Ra’s al Ghul looked up, his face somber but not unfriendly. “Ah… it is good that you’re finally awake. Q a-d i r!” He emphasized the name, carefully pronouncing each syllable. “I know that you feel weak and that you have many questions. In time I will hopefully be able to answer them all.”_   
  
_Qadir just nodded, not knowing what to say or where even to begin asking questions. He had so many._   
  
_Ra’s al Ghul seemed to notice his indecision and smiled reassuringly. “Is there something you want to know right now?”_   
  
_“Who am I? Am … am I really your son?” Qadir asked, his voice breaking, whether from the dryness of his throat or uncertainty he couldn’t say_   
  
_Ra’s noticed and took a glass from the bedside table, carefully holding it to Qadir’s lips. “That is a rather loaded question… here, drink this… and complicated to answer too. In short, no, you’re not my son.” He made a pause for effect, letting the words sink in, while setting back the half-empty glass on the bedside table, and sighed. “At least not by blood.”_


End file.
